


Sudden Desire

by HauntedCity



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Alcohol, Based on the musical, Canon Compliant - Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King, Cigarettes, Comfort, Counseling, Death, Emotionally Repressed, Eventual Smut, Eventual rating change, F/M, Masturbation, Murder, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Netherworld, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, Swearing, Therapy, Touch-Starved, Trauma, Witches and hexes and all the good stuff, have the urge to do smut for smut's sake but i need a plot, in which Beej is touch-starved and needs some comfort, lots of swearing, musical spoilers, pining over your therapist, post-musical, substance use, with pieces of the film
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:22:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 62,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22616338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HauntedCity/pseuds/HauntedCity
Summary: The rules changed after Beetlejuice returned to the Netherworld. With Juno no longer in charge, he's forced to participate in 300 hours of therapy. Being Recently Deceased...again...he finds himself struggling with a loss of power, trying to gain it all back so he can move on to his next evil scheme. Pining over his therapist was never in his game plan but, hey, when his cock fits...
Relationships: Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)/Original Character(s), Beetlejuice/Originial Female Character(s)
Comments: 78
Kudos: 131





	1. Chapter 1

8:25am – in other words, _late_. As per usual on Monday mornings, Cecelia realizes.

How typical she looks, she’s sure – heels, dress, laptop case, standing at the shop outside the office, impatiently waiting for her coffee. For once she’s looking forward to seeing her client today. Two weeks ago was their first breakthrough and she’d been such a tough one to crack. Who knew all it took for the young girl to open up was to chat about ghost stories?

Cecelia thanks the barista, taking off moments later. Gathering the end of the long dress she’s wearing she climbs the steps two at a time. Being in a hurry is always her normal pace and she hates it most days. Running from client to client, multitasking, taking calls from those with suicidal ideation…she sighs at the memory of last night, getting called at 2am to talk someone off the ledge.

In her thoughts on her jog up the stairs she almost runs head-first into a broad chest.

“I’m so sorry!” she gasps, steadying herself. “Oh, Mr. Deetz, it’s good to see you.”

“Please, Cecelia, call me Charles,” he smiles, ever the sweetest. “Lydia…she…” he sighs.

She shifts her bag on her shoulder. “Is everything alright?”

For some reason she has a bad gut feeling.

“Yes, but…she insisted upon bringing a book this time. Mentioned _ghosts_.” Cecelia remains silent. “Ever since we moved into this house, she’s been…talking more and more about ghosts. It’s…freaking Delia out.” Charles pinches the bridge of his nose. “She’s spending so much money on _crystals._ ”

Cecelia bites down a laugh at that.

“How are things…going with Delia?” she asks, glancing over at Lydia who sits in the waiting room, focusing on a book.

Charles sighs. “She’s…it’s been difficult. After Emily…” his mouth is a hard line, eyes glaze over. He glances toward his daughter. “It takes time. I know that. Just…how _much_ time?”

“The more time you give her and the better your communication is with your daughter I think things will turn out alright.”

At her words he smiles through his sadness. “Well, you’re the expert.”

She rolls her eyes, “If you say so.” They laugh and Cecelia shifts the bag on her shoulder. “We’ll see you in an hour.”

He nods as she makes her way to Lydia who sits there in a black dress, scanning pages of what she assumes is her ghost book Charles spoke of.

Their greetings are very brief as Lydia takes no time to settle into the chair in the office and crack the spine of the book once again. Cecelia closes the door and gets settled into her office. The girl reading from a passage quickly, finger tracing over the words as she follows along.

“Isn’t that amazing!? Do you think ghosts can do that?”

“Do what, Lydia?” she’s partly regretting mentioning this whole ghost thing to the girl last session. It was a way to get her to open up, but now it seems as if she’s becoming obsessed.

“Get attached to certain objects and, like, _stay around_?”

Cecelia shrugs. “I guess it’s possible. Are you speaking of someone personal to you, Lydia?”

Her face goes blank. “…why?”

“I’m just curious. You got really excited about it and I wondered if you were thinking of your mother.”

Her face is still blank but slowly her irritation is evident. “Oh, I know she’s around. We’ve got all her stuff that Delia’s been digging through during the move.” Her voice is monotone. “I was talking about…vengeful spirits.”

A part of Cecelia wants to tell her that her imagination is getting the better of her, that it’s common during a big life change – like a move – for some to struggle with memories that pull them back to previous places.

“You’re having experiences in the new house?”

“’Experiences’?” she quotes. “Is that what you’re gonna call them?” she tosses the book on the coffee table. “No. I mean a real ghost. Er…demon, I don’t really know what he is…”

“Lydia, there are often perfectly good explanations about these things.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Lydia crosses her arms and she notes how closed off she is currently. She shouldn’t have pushed about the ghost thing, Cecelia thinks. Clearly, she hit a nerve, lost her trust.

“In a new home. You aren’t used to the noises, the creaking of the floorboards could be the home settling or the windows rattling, right?”

“What about it talking to me?”

“Your ghost?” at the question she nods. “Lydia…” she sips her coffee. “Is your dad speaking with you about your mother’s passing?”

The answer doesn’t come instantly like Cecelia expects. “…No.”

“And that’s bothersome to you,” she makes the connection and vocalizes it so Lydia can hear the thought as well.

“ _Yes_!” the young girl sighs, throws her hands up in the air. “Why can’t we talk about her? It’s always ‘Lydia, go move this’ or ‘Delia, fix her’ or ‘you have more therapy next week!’ He never wants to take the time to talk to me about it. It’s…always someone else’s problem.”

The counselor files this away in her mind. Perhaps a family session would be helpful, she thinks. The more that Lydia lets her into her world the more avenues they have access to travel to help.

The ghost talk stalls for the moment but just before the end she mentions it again, brings up her counselor’s interest in it. The pale girl had remembered what she’d said last week: that her childhood was filled with ghost stories, how she’d read them to friends at slumber parties, how much she loved the eerie things.

“But why don’t you like it anymore?” her soft voice lilts in the quiet room.

Cecelia smiles sadly as she finishes the last sip of cold coffee. “The world is a scarier place than any ghost story could be. Lydia, I started working with people…with some very…complicated people and I couldn’t stomach the ghost stories anymore.”

She can tell Lydia’s processing this, and she gives her the time, expects her to ask questions – but Lydia eventually nods in understanding and moves on before the session is up.

Once again, she mentions about her ghost/demon and how ‘odd’ he is. Cecelia rolls with it, letting her spill before their time is up. Lydia has put in some good work during this session, she thinks, and so she should have the time to control what they talk about for their ending before Cecelia summarizes.

This demon, she assumes, is the memory of her mother hanging over them in that new house – the promise of a discussion that Charles refuses to give his daughter. Emily Deetz could very well be haunting that house, just not in the sense that Lydia assumes.

Lydia seems grateful to be taken seriously for the time and flops back against the chair with an expression of wonderment.

“Who knew another world could exist, right? Like…my mom must be out there, somewhere.”

Cecelia pulls her back down to reality before ending the session. “Your mother is always with you, Lydia. Even if your father isn’t talking about her like you want, it may take time, right? In whatever sense, you still carry your mother with you – those memories will be alive.”

“But what if they go? What if I forget?” the girl is starting to get emotional but hides it by glancing out the window, refusing to meet eyes with the counselor.

“That’s why you’re so eager to talk about her; so you don’t forget.” Cecelia vocalizes her connection. Lydia doesn’t make a move, agree or disagree. “It sounds like you feel as if your father doesn’t understand…do you think he’s grieving differently than you?”

Lydia glances at the clock now. “Time’s up, he’s probably outside.” She grabs her book of supernatural tales and tries to calmly walk to the door. “Bye.”

Cecelia is almost humored by Lydia’s behavior, being very aware that she hit a nerve, made her think. Making her way to her desk she sets down her empty coffee mug and pulls out her computer to start typing case notes.

•••

The enjoyment of starting some days with interesting, well-hearted clients is great. Cecelia finds it especially helpful for when she has particularly difficult clients shortly thereafter.

The next gentleman she sees is always edgy, always confrontational and such a know-it-all. She considers his case as a challenge and has not discontinued services or transferred him to another counselor – yet.

After today, however, she worries that she will have to.

He made a pass at her.

Nothing serious, just asked her on a date and was very embarrassed when she turned him down and explained why. In these moments she typically finds time to educate her clients: it is extremely common for patients to feel a sense of ‘love’ or a developing crush on their counselor. She allows them to dive into that feeling, into the ‘why’ behind it - how many people in our lives will listen, problem-solve with us, and have unconditional positive regard? Not many. There’s a certain thrill one gets from being understood, not feeling alone, feeling like someone cares enough to _get_ you.

The few times she’s had to use this speech have gone over well; they’d discussed how this crush can make things iffy, that transferring services to another colleague may be in their best interest. Usually things end up…okay. Often clients are better off, more capable of focusing on their growth and help without having to worry about the crush they’re developing on their counselor.

Today she finds herself unable to tell this particular client about transferring services – mostly because of the sinking feeling she has that he is going to get violent. It’s been quite a while since she’s had to put anyone in a restraint like at her previous position in a treatment center (which is not allowed in her current setting, mind you, but self-defense and old habits come to mind…so does a revoked license…)

So her goal is to get him out of the office with the promise of seeing him in two weeks, which she will _not_ be doing. Instead she will be calling him from a safe spot either alone in the office or apartment where he cannot lash out.

It’s been four hours since she’d calmly escorted him out. She’d eaten lunch and seen three clients before the end of the day. Days like these always wear on her – especially with some of the heavier discussions she has with other adult clients. She finds herself missing the conversation with Lydia from earlier that day. She planned to call Charles soon, set up something for a family session.

Just as she’s about to leave for the night she spots a figure standing in the empty waiting room and all of those ghost stories Lydia told her don’t seem so scary anymore.

There’s her client – wild-eyed and angry, just waiting for her.

“You’re such a tease, Ms. Douglas.”

“Ryan, please calm down. Let’s talk.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “No more talking, we’ve talked enough.” He pulls a gun from his waistband and Cecelia holds her breath. “You won’t go out with me. You string me along like this and then turn me down. Is this some kinda game to you? Make me fall in love with you and then crush me? I bare my _heart_ in there every other week, Cece Do you see that?”

He turns the gun on himself, pointing it at his head.

“No! No, Ryan. Please…let’s work through this. You’re going through it right now. Let’s come up with a better plan, okay?” she’s shaking and sweating and almost crying, composure long gone.

“Right. Better plan.” She’s aware that he moves at a normal pace, but to her it feels like slow-motion that he points the gun at her and fires.

She remembers the feeling of the stiff carpet beneath her, the gaping hole in her chest, how her gasping sounded in the empty room, Ryan’s footsteps retreating, and the loud door slam, the way her blood felt pooling around her back…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting something new because my obsession with Beetlejuice has only grown since I saw the musical in October. Just bought tickets to see it again in March and I'm pretty stoked. Sorry no Beej yet in this chapter, just mentions of him, but our favorite bug man will make his appearance in chapter two. Comments motivate me, I'm not gonna lie. Kudos and subs are pretty great as well!


	2. Chapter 2

“You think this is funny?”

“A little.”

“Do you have any idea what kind of mess you made for me?”

Lillian Verite, Juno’s replacement, sits at her new desk and stares down at the overgrown manchild in the room. She looks like shit, Beetlejuice decides – even more so than usual – and he’s not surprised. Three days had passed since he let that Sandworm do its worst on his mom and the afterlife had been _pretty_ wound up from his actions to say the least.

“Aw, come on, Lil…don’t be so serious. I got ya a new job, huh?”

She shoots him a look but goes back to the paperwork. If she only wanted to peruse his file, he figures he should just go, no use in sitting and waiting for his fate to be decided.

God, did he hope they decide to let him keep the powers. Even considering Lydia’s little stunt and being Recently Deceased again he managed to start regaining them; not as much as he’d like but, eh, it was a start. Not that he was going to offer up _that_ information any time soon…

He is very aware that Lillian has to zap up some serious juice if she wants to trap him again. And she didn’t have that manpower. Not now. Not after Darrius’ lay off, not after The Powers That Be decided he was unfit for the charge of King. They were swamped, that was clear, and Beetlejuice knew this before he'd even attempted befriending Edgar Allan Poe’s daughter.

Fall back plan, he had to have it.

“Stay,” she insists like he’s a dog and he freezes mid-step toward the door. Her glare intensifies. “You know all the paperwork I’m buried with now? We’re working on new procedures for those like you.”

This flatters him, really, that he’d set the standard in a way. Rules were created for a reason, same as punishments and if he was the one to go down in history as that guy who broke the Netherworld by killing his mom then – fuck – did he do a bangup job.

“Yanno, it’s nice to be noticed,” he adjusts his red vest, the one he still hadn’t changed out of since he was stabbed after he was married, alive, killed, then recently deceased again.

“Go down the hall,” Lilian says, exasperated.

“Huh?”

“New protocol, like I said. Down the hall. Now. Don’t make me call the guards again. Frank would love to get his hands on you after last time.”

“Bet he would,” Beetlejuice chortles, earning a deep glare. “Last time someone looked at me like that, I got laid.” He raises a brow. “Interested?”

“ _Out_!” she calls.

•••

The corridor is long, white, sterile. It seems like a new wing had been built, smells like new construction and it was _noticeable –_ what with his senses being tinged post mortem.

He quit smoking, didn’t he? Or did he, he honestly couldn’t remember anymore. But he _wants_ a cigarette…more than anything right now.

Closing his eyes, he really focuses, trying to juice one up annnnd…

A Juul!? _What!? The fuck!?_

Son of a bitch, this lack of power is going to be the re-death of him.

Focusing once more he tries again but the damn thing just ends up burning his fingers and melting.

“Damn it,” he huffs, pressing his fingers in his mouth and letting his thoughts take over.

Lillian had demanded his presence. A hearing, some bullshit about a _review_? They couldn't be taking this lightly...

His footsteps stop right before a doorway into an office. String lights hang across the ceiling and a woman is standing on a chair, hoisting the last line of lights up to loop around a wall hook.

And, _fuck_ , the _view_...

He lets out a low wolf whistle. She startles, pressing a hand to her chest, turning quickly, eyes tracing over him without hesitation.

Beetlejuice growls softly, staring up at the brown eyed beauty. Leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, he smirks.

She’s _short_ \- he notices – but that _ass_. Just his type. As with few Netherworldly people he wonders what brought her here. What is the reason behind her death? There aren’t visible marks on her - and he was looking.

“Can I help you with something?” He can tell the tone is a Customer Service voice, lilted slightly higher than her normal manner probably is.

She steps off of the chair with some difficulty and he can see the top curves of both ample breasts as she leans down. Her high heels click against the tile floor as she approaches him.

“Oh, babes, I got lotsa things you can help me with...”

Glancing down bashfully she regains her composure and rights herself again.

“Beetlejuice, I’m guessing.”

His eyes narrow then, pressing his burnt fingers on the door molding. “So you know me,” he states, straightening his maroon getup from the wedding/murder that happened. “Heard all the good gossip of the Netherworld?”

“Yes, I am aware of you.”

He raises a brow, smirking. “Flattery will get you...well, everywhere, babe.”

She laughs softly. “We aren’t starting today, are we? Juno’s replacement didn’t mention until...”

“Whoa, hold up there, gorgeous. You mean to tell me they’re hooking me up with _you_?" He scoffs. Were they trying a different form of torture? One where he’s gifted some sexy newbie? He can smell the newness from her. Fresh meat. Recently Deceased, for sure. So how did she find herself in an office just outside of Juno's so quick?

“Hardly,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes at his attempts this time. Clearly, he’d taken it too far. She turns back to her desk and Beetlejuice gets another great look at her ass.

She pulls out his file. His. _File_. The one kept under lock and key that only the Highest can view. Who the fuck is this chick? Now he’s agitated.

It surprises him how sexually frustrating it is to watch her flip through his file like it’s a typical novel. Does she not see the dominance she’s taking in the room simply by holding that in her dead little hands?

Beetlejuice shoves his hands in his pockets, inching forward.

One step and her eyes dart toward him. She doesn’t make any attempt at closing and locking it nor does she flinch. Clearly, she knows who he is, what he is capable of. She can feel the power emanating off of him, no doubt. Yet she chooses to look at him under those long lashes and smirk at his attempt at a calm resolve.

He breaks, “The fuck you doin’ with that?”

She _thwaps_ it shut, locks it with her fingernail, then snaps the key-shaped cut back into place.

Impressive.

“You skipped your hearing,” she accuses.

“Was on my way to it, 'til I saw you all bent over yer desk.”

Another eyeroll. “Right.” She shoots the book into a file drawer and juices it shut.

“How long ya been in the land ‘o the dead?” He asks what’s on his mind.

“This isn’t about me; this is about you. Lillian apparently failed to mention the next steps after your trial, right?” At her words, he doesn’t interrupt. “Then allow me to do the honors: hi, I’m Cecelia Douglas and I’m your counselor.”

Beetlejuice’s mouth falls open. “ _What_!?”

She shrugs, sending him a cheeky smirk. “Under new management, you’ve heard I’m sure.”

 _Counselor_? Counselor!? No. _Fuck_ no.

Beetlejuice takes two steps toward her, eyes dark and menacing.

“Ya better be fuckin’ with me right now or so help me...”

She purses her lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow and we can talk all about it.” He opens his mouth to speak but she raises her hand and a force has him by the tongue. He glares. “I’d suggest you don’t skip our appointments, Beetlejuice. You wouldn’t like the consequences.”

The force releases and he moves his tongue around inside his mouth before swallowing hard.

“Right. Unless there’s a sweet reward for me coming out, I’ll pass - thank you,” he sneers. Turning on his heels he leaves the room.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he hears her call on his way back down the hallway.

What does _she_ know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually had this idea for Beej seeing a counselor typed up two years ago and it was based on Keaton's version. I fell so hard for Alex though and once I heard Adam's line of, "I hope there's a dead therapist out there who can get him the help he needs" I knew I had to go through with this. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Sure enough, the girl is right: he’d almost missed his trial - no thanks to her distraction - and they have him signed up for 300 hours of _counseling_.

And he isn’t fucking going. Nope, no way. Not him. If they thought his behavior was because some kinda disorder they could suck his dick.

No one was gonna follow up that quick. Few days, this would all blow over. He’s sure of it.

•••

“Ms. Douglas, thanks for seeing me,” Lillian looks frazzled, petrified.

“Of course,” Cecelia tries to keep her irritation at bay.

Lillian wasn’t just appointed out of her pure ability, no. There were rumors around the Netherworld of how she got this position after Juno’s death. The two were a little too intertwined and it cut something deep into Cecelia.

“Look, I know that things are…weird…but…-”

The counselor blinks hard, biting her tongue before exhaling sharply out of her nostrils. She knew that breathing wasn’t _needed_ here after her death but it was sort of a habit she still had. Some of the other inhabitants of this place had similar traits, she’d noticed from her short time here.

“Enough,” the statement comes out before she can swallow it down. “What’s the issue?”

Lillian sits straight and Cece recognizes that she’s trying to put on a tough front, trying to act like Cece’s annoyance didn’t sting. She knew it did. Good.

“The issue is your new charge,” her voice comes out strong and Cecelia blinks calmly at her. “Now, the Powers tell me how capable you are and I’m sure they’re right, we’ll see – but you don’t know what you’re up against with you-know-who.”

Cecelia levels her gaze. “ _Really_?” Lillian freezes at the feel of the power around her, the rage bubbling up. “I think I can handle him…you realize you _can_ say his name, right? We’re deceased.” If she thought she was just going to sit here and let her actively doubt her ability, she’s dead wrong. Cecelia stands up, never breaking gaze.

Lillian can see the fire burning in her gaze. She still has that ‘I-can-take-on-the-world’ attitude and that would be the destruction of her spirit, she was sure. She’s seen it a time or two before with newbies who were thrown into power quickly. This was only a matter of time.

“Uhm. Before you go...I...well, as you know He didn’t show yesterday.”

“Yes, I’m well aware.”

Lillian looks up at the guard by her door and nods once. The door opens and someone is pushed in the room, hands raised in a frustrated manner as the guard presses him on.

Beetlejuice looks over at her, cocky smirk on his bruised face. “Hey, babes. How ya doin’?”

He has one Hell of a black eye and walks with a slight limp, Cecelia notes.

It’s odd seeing him like this. From what she’s heard he is powerful and some say malicious.

How he let one of the guards give him the run around is a surprise.

Lillian ignores him. “The guards went a few rounds with him as you can see.”

“Yeah, right before I strung them up like Christmas lights,” Beetlejuice speaks, eyes never leaving Cecelia.

“Well you’re here now,” Cecelia wants the whole story but she’s sure his side would be half fib. “Follow me.”

The guard steps behind him, making Beetlejuice glance sideways. Cecelia hesitates but knows what he wants.

“I can take it from here, thank you, Gary,” Cecelia nods as Gary pulls out the keys to uncuff the demon.

“As I said, be cautious with this one,” Lillian warns, reminding Cecelia that she’s still in the room.

“And as _I_ said, I’ve got it.”

“You…guys know I’m right _here_ , yeah?” Beetlejuice jokes.

“I understand you think you’re in control, but there’s a long history with Him,” Lillian sits back in her chair.

“Oh? That’s kinda your _thing_ , I’m realizing, Lillian,” Cecelia tries to keep it professional, she really does, but she can’t stand the individual before her.

Lillian gasps, “You have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“The Afterlife talks, Lillian, trust me. And as a counselor, I’m always listening. My, the things I’ve heard…”

Beetlejuice glances back and forth between the two of them. “Ladies, hey, don’t fight over me, plenty to go around…” he steps forward to drape his arm over Cecelia’s shoulder but she snaps and he feels like someone hammered his finger. “Ow, fuck!”

Cecelia levels her gaze at him then glances toward Lillian.

“Well, if you need me, I'm a few doors away,” Juno’s predecessor mouths. “And you should learn to watch your tongue, Ms. Douglas.”

“You first,” Cecelia deadpans.

•••

The Ghost with the Most hums at her spunk, filing that away for later.

Two steps toward the door and the guard – Gary, was it – blocks his path.

"Hey, big boy, I’m sure you’d enjoy but quite frankly I’m not in the _mood_ right now, yanno? Go get lubed up with someone else,” he quips.

The guard grunts at him like some Neanderthal.

“Gary,” Cecelia’s voice calls behind him and he watches the guard glare before stepping aside.

Beetlejuice eyes Cecelia suspiciously but proceeds to follow her out of the room. What does she think she’s doing? The guards at least stood a chance against him. The Recently Deceased? Never.

Still, he follows and quite frankly enjoys the view.

Walking into this office again makes Beetlejuice sigh inwardly. What the fuck was he doing here? How the fuck had he managed to slide down so low? Maybe it had something to do with tricking Lydia into the whole green card thing. He technically wasn’t Recently Deceased anymore, though that stab through the heart sure _felt_ meaningful and woke him up with a bad case of the newly dead heebie-jeebies.

The door closes firmly behind him and then it’s just the two of them – alone – in the vast space. He takes in the art on the wall – abstract, colorful. One of the pieces looks like something from that messy guy – what was his name? The alcoholic with the paint splatters who drunkenly crashed his car into a tree and flew 50 feet to his death? Ah, doesn’t matter…

“So, you and Lil seem to be hitting it off…” Beetlejuice mumbles as he flops down on the couch. His eyes scan over the items on the coffee table before him: pack of cigarettes, lighter, gum. He raises an eyebrow.

She rolls her eyes as she sits down. “I try to be professional, but there are just some people…”

He smirks at this. “You’re preaching to the choir, babes.” He grabs the pack of cigarettes, plays with it in his hands. “But…what _about_ Lillian? I mean, sure, she’s got that whole holier than thou bullshit but…she’s easy on the eyes at least.”

Another eye roll he notes.

“Right. Just like the young human you tricked into marrying you before she killed you?”

Beetlejuice’s eyes narrow, tossing the pack of cigarettes back down on the table with a loud thud.

“It was a _green card thing!_ ” he defends, slumping against the cushion. “You know about that?” he mutters, forgetting about his file for a moment.

“Would it make it easier if I pretended that I didn’t?”

He hums, “Yes.”

They sit silent for a few beats and Beetlejuice sighs. “So, how do we _start_ this whole thing? Is this the part where I lay back and tell you about my father?”

She shrugs, “If you want. However you wanna start, Beetlejuice. The ball’s in your court.”

He considers this a moment, not really knowing how to go forward. Was this all a trick? Was he being recorded? Some kind of confessional that would be broadcast all over the Netherworld as he spilled his guts?

He suddenly has the urge to stand, pace, meander around the room and inspect. If there _was_ a mic where would she hide it?

It surprises him that she doesn’t stop him from digging through her stuff, looking at bookcases, pulling out items. Beetlejuice ends up opening the door, tempted to leave, letting in the smell of the new wing of this building. He cringes, spins on his heels to face her, to see if she looks angry at his attempted escape.

He tries to keep his face neutral, not give away the curiosity he’s feeling, the questions bubbling up in him. Arms crossed in the doorway he doesn’t move.

“So, what, I’m expected to spill my guts? Tell ya some sob story about how mommy never loved me and this is what the afterlife turned me into?”

She still sits at the desk, blinking slowly.

“Look,” she sighs. “I’m expected to sit with you for 300 hours. If you choose to work against me, half the battle is apparently getting you here.” She eyes the bruises that adorn his face, the cut next to his mouth. “So, you’re here. Now what?” She’s trying a different tactic than usual.

When she got this charge, she started dealing with the Recently Deceased; the grief, the confusion, the tears. Beetlejuice is a whole different ballgame.

He grumbles something under his breath that sounds like “crazy bitch” but steps away from the door, slams it closed again, and moves forward to the coffee table. He takes a cigarette out of the pack.

She calls that progress.

“Do you usually smoke?” she asks.

“No,” he quips. “Not for a while, but something about this whole mess makes me wanna.”

He flops down in the chair before her, props his feet up on the desk as he lights the thing and inhales deeply. He looks like a sight: blood caked on his knuckles from the fight with the guards, his usual striped suit replacing the maroon tux from the other day.

“How’d you get this gig?”

She hesitates. “I’d love to discuss it, however we’re here about you.”

He rolls his eyes, exhaling smoke in her face. She just blinks at him with an unimpressed expression.

“Shit, you think I’ll spill my deepest and darkest to ya when all I got’s a name?” He stretches, popping his spine. “Gonna have ta give me more than that, kid.”

He watches as she grabs a coffee cup and lifts it to her full lips, sipping the steaming thing without hesitation. She’s _dead_ , these old Breather habits probably still have a hold on her. He can remember when his Afterlife was like that – he could remember almost _tasting_ things still. The Afterlife had a way of altering things. Sure, he still _tasted_ …a little…but it wasn’t _normal_ …he couldn’t explain it.

When she’s done she says, “In Life I had a degree in counseling and in Death they asked me to step into the position,” but Beetlejuice hums, unimpressed.

“Sure, sure. Right. The digs next to Juno’s office just _happened_ , no doubt."

“Juno, as in your _mother_?” he sits silent. “I answered your question, now answer mine,” she pauses, waiting for interruption but he taps his cigarette ashes into a basket of papers. A slow, lazy gaze meets her eyes again. “How many did they send?”

“How many what did who send?”

“Guards.”

Oh. So it wasn’t some pressing matter, some huge question like _‘how did your father treat you,’_ or ‘ _did you mourn after killing your mother?’_ but a current concern.

“Twelve.”

“And how many did you...fight to Inexistence?”

A slow smirk lifts his features, makes the cut on his lip look more menacing.

“All but one.”

Cecelia nods, leaning back in her chair. The Recently Deceased aren’t usually violent, just sad or confused. Beetlejuice isn’t technically Recently Deceased anymore. He’s been here for how many decades?

“And what about that _one_?”

Beetlejuice puts his cigarette out. “Oh, strung him up in the basement.” At this, Cecelia sits quietly and Beetlejuice lets the statement sit in the air before he laughs. “Nah, have to let _one_ go, right? Who else is gonna tell the _story_!?”

“Are you using it as a warning to others?”

Beetlejuice sits back, raises his chin, narrows his eyes. “I see what you’re doing there,” he wriggles his fingers in front of her.

“What I’m _doing_?” she can’t help but laugh.

“You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalyzed,” he lowers his voice, biting his bottom lip. She shoots him a look, raising her eyebrows at him. “Well, I should go.” He slaps his hands on his thighs then rises to his feet.

“You still have forty minutes of session left…” Cecelia mentions.

“Peace out, girl scout!”

He’s gone before she can say anything else.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all taking care of yourselves during this stressful time. Here's maybe a slight distraction that I hope you enjoy!

Beetlejuice spends the next few days at Nine Circles, the local bar a few blocks away from his place.

He’s mostly listening, nursing a drink sometimes, maybe eyeballing the eye candy around the place, but _listening_ more than anything.

These suckers that come here are dealing with some _shit_ , or have dealt with some shit Before. He has some information he’s seeking. And he knows _just_ the place to seek it out.

It takes a grand total of ten separate visits sprawled out throughout a few days but he eventually picks up on what he needs to hear.

Business suit, roadkill, green in the face, _trying to get drunk_.

Perfect.

He buys him a beer…er, tricks the bartender into putting it on someone else’s tab – it’s the thought that counts, right?

The deady is eager to slurp up some more poison, grateful for it, and Beetlejuice swindles him into thinking he’s maybe a little _gone_ himself – spills some of his drink on the table, makes his eyes half-lidded. This ain’t his first rodeo.

Guy’s name is Paul. Or Pete, maybe, he can’t remember but that doesn’t matter! What matters is ~~Paul~~ - ~~Pete~~ thinks they’re _friends –_ fast friends – and he’s an open freaking book after a short while.

What piqued his interest was his mention to the bartender about therapy. “ _Coming here sure beats therapy_ ” he’d said and it all clicked. After making his dramatic exit at the last counseling session, Beetlejuice noticed a few people in the waiting room – ~~Paul~~ - ~~Pete~~ being one of them. He isn’t good with faces, but the green tint to him kinda stuck.

“So, yer in _therapy_? Here?” Beetlejuice tries to slide the question in there after a good half hour of ‘getting to know’ ~~Paul~~ - ~~Pete~~.

The roadkill rolls his eyes and it’s an eerie sight. “Yeah, 270 hours left to go. These new protocols are killer.”

“I’ll bet,” Beetlejuice nods. “I’m sure you’d like things to…go back to normal, huh?” he’s hinting, it’s a stretch – they aren’t the same by any means but Beetlejuice figures it’s worth a shot.

“You’re tellin’ _me_ ,” roadkill mutters. “My hearing is after this time, yanno? Just unreal…but it’s kind of helpful…digging into this stuff. God knows I couldn’t afford therapy when I was Alive.”

Beetlejuice nods, pretending to know. “So how does that all work? Like, do you get things back as you go?” He stretches once again – having no idea what this bloke _lost_ in the first place. All he knew is he needed his powers back and if this system were set up like he figured it was – there was a reward at the end of all this.

“Yeah,” he finishes his beer. “After so long I get some of my freedom back, you know? My wife…she’s here too but they’ve put this order on her where I can’t see her until I get these hours done.”

There it is.

Where Beetlejuice lost his powers, ~~Paul~~ - ~~Pete~~ lost his wife.

That’s all the answer he needed.

“Well, thanks for your time,” he starts to say.

“My counselor though,” he sighs. “I want a new one. He’s so pushy. Like, combative. It’s not how I like to be treated and I wanna put in for a change. That new blood would be nice, but she’s booked.”

Wait, what? Was he talking about Cecelia? Beetlejuice’s interest is piqued once again.

“New one?”

“Yeah. You haven’t heard? She’s Newly Deceased, yanno? Yet she’s got all this power. The changes that are happening in there are fishy. But I’ve heard she’s good. Like, really good. My buddy sees her every two weeks.”

“How’d she get all that power then?”

Roadkill shrugs. “Must know somebody, that’s all I can assume.”

Beetlejuice had been gone for a bit, busy watching the Maitlands and royally screwing the pooch. He’d missed a lot, he realizes now.

There was more to Cecelia than he originally thought.

•••

The eight-client days are always the worst. Barely a break between all of them, no time for case notes…the whole thing is a cluster.

“Have a good night, Cece,” came the evening guard’s voice as the counselor walks out.

Though she smiles, she knows how the evening is going to play out: empty house, move things around to make it feel more lived-in, turn on the TV, sit on the couch looking over case notes for tomorrow’s clients.

She’s sleeping again, even though she doesn’t need to now. She’s getting back in the habit because it makes her feel like things are normal, like she isn’t a dead therapist in this weird place.

And lately she’s been feeling…drained almost. Like she did on really exhausting days when she was alive.

She thought she was lonely Before…

It made her even more grateful to come into work – to _have_ work in the Netherworld. She knew some people didn’t; knew that she should be happy that she was… _granted_ this job. But she isn’t. The history behind it all makes her skin crawl and she is almost disappointed in herself for taking the job in the first place…

The hours of the Netherworld were always hard to keep up with. All too often she’d find herself waking from a dreamless sleep to discover that her shift started soon. Sometimes night was too short and sometimes it dragged on.

Last night was no different than normal and she realizes she is starting to _hate_ her normal.

“Morning, Cece,” comes a familiar voice. The guard still sits at his post, enjoying the newspaper.

It felt like she’d just seen him and yet here she is again – another day.

“Morning-” she starts but her sentence falters when she watches someone walk past her peripheral…Couldn’t be…

“Cecelia?” the voice that echoes in the near-empty hallway makes the counselor freeze mid-step.

She raises her eyes to meet the surprised gaze of her murderer.

“Ryan.”

If her heart was still beating it would be erratic right now.

“Wow! I…I can’t believe you’re here. I…” he draws closer to her and she steps back.

His neck has a red mark and she notices the skin color, aware of clients she’s had that died by hanging. It clicks quickly why he’s here. He’s a civil servant now. The dots connect.

Swiftly, she turns and makes her way up the stairs. Footsteps follow behind her.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought of you. Of…what I did. They got me, Cece, I was imprisoned.”

“Oh, I feel so bad for you…” she rolls her eyes.

“You do!?”

“No.”

He pauses on the steps but catches up as she goes to her floor.

“I went about it all wrong, you know? Acted on impulse, like you said in counseling…” he grabs her wrist. They’re standing by the waiting room and Cece notices a few clients sitting there for other counselors…and Beetlejuice. He’s staring. She pulls her arm away from Ryan, takes a step back.

“I have things to do, Ryan. You need to go.”

“I just have to know, was there someone else? Is that why you turned me down?”

“No,” she lowers her voice. “You need to leave me the Hell alone. Right now. You’ve done enough. Stop.”

And she storms down to her office.

Beetlejuice takes in the scene, not even ashamed to be staring the dude down. What the Hell was all that about? Curious.

The lanky dude practically gallops down the hallway with each long stride.

He gives a solid five minutes. Er…maybe two. By then Beetlejuice is fuming.

This is what he got for being on time for once. Hurry up to wait. Fuckin’ asshole counselor with her holier-than-thou attitude. Does she think she’s better than everyone? That this job makes her into something untouchable? He knows what this must be: she’s a civil servant in some way, like the rest of ‘em in this building. Not any better than anyone. Just as fucked up as the rest – only she’s got a _degree_. For fuck’s sake…

Only civil servants don’t start out as therapists and counselors. They work their way up, or so he’d heard. So, what gives?

She must’ve offed herself, right? To have this position…

Only she doesn’t _look_ like she offed herself…

Not that he’s _looking_ …okay, yeah, he had…

Holy shit what’s taking her so long?

Fuck it.

“Mr. Beetlejuice, she will come for you when she’s ready,” the receptionist announces as if that’ll stop him.

“Heh, oh _yeah she will_ …” he chuckles, halfway down the hall now, humored by his own joke.

The time waster is standing outside her door. Beetlejuice stands directly behind him, breathing near his neck. The guy startles and _oh_ this brings Beetlejuice so much joy.

“Sir, I-”

Beetlejuice holds up a hand. “Stop ya right there, buddy. I got here _on time_ for this and you’re taking up my hour?” There’s silence and he feels Cecelia’s eyes on him. “Oh, am I interrupting something?”

“I-” is all the man lets out.

Glancing amid the two of them, Beetlejuice steps to the side and squeezes himself between the man and the doorframe.

“Okay. ’Scuse me…” he drags the words out and staggers through the door. Flattening his jacket, he glances back at the man who stands there in awe. “Well. Thanks for your time. You can go,” he speaks with a wave of his hand, trying to use his power to close the door on the dude. It barely moves, merely tapping him on the ass with the doorknob. Beetlejuice huffs down in the seat before Cecelia’s desk, smiling at her. “Hiya there, doc.”

She looks surprised and humored and something else that Beetlejuice can’t quite put his finger on.

“Cece-” comes a voice which makes him glance back to the doorway.

“You’re still _here_?” his hair starts tinting red and he feels the familiar rage bubbling up. Ok. He’d been nice. He had been. The guy straightens and takes off in seconds. “Whew! That guy, huh?”

She’s still silent but it only lasts a moment.

“Thank you,” comes out of her mouth and it surprises them both. She shakes her head, closing her eyes for a second with an unstable breath.

She was hoping to have a few minutes to regroup before Beetlejuice’s session but…

“Woah, hey, ya need a minute? Jesus, babes, seems like you just saw a ghost.”

It takes a second but they both laugh at this.

“I…yeah, something like that,” a wave of her hand and he can hear the door close behind him.

Beetlejuice almost groans in envy, slumping back against the seat even further. Cecelia catches this change in posture but doesn’t push yet, knowing he’s keeping her on a short leash. It takes a bit for people to get accustomed to counseling but it seems Beetlejuice is especially hesitant.

“He another client?” he gruffs out.

“Typically, if you ask that I shouldn’t _say_ , but…no, he isn’t another client.”

“Boyfriend?”

He notices her inhale sharply at this.

“No. No, I…” she’s having an internal debate and he can see it going down, can read that expression so easily. She’s deciding if she wants to tell him the truth. “That’s actually the guy who killed me.” She speaks rapidly, almost out of breath, as if she hasn’t said this to anyone. And maybe she hasn’t. Who really _asks_ their dead therapist how they died?

A cornucopia of thoughts circles around in his mind.

“Holy shit,” he vocalizes, jaw dropped, completely not expecting this. Mostly the whole being a therapist thing and the non-disclosure thing. Did she just… _disclose_ that to him? About her Life?

Only…

Wait.

If she…-

He’d been wrong.

“Anyway, so, how have the past few days been going for you?” again, her speech is rapid and she takes an awkward sip of cold coffee.

“Wait, hold up.” The thoughts are all jumbled, but they’re there. A new plan blooming in his mind, forming as the words start to come out of his mouth. “Has he been _following you?_ ”

Cecelia chokes on the coffee, covering her mouth. It’s an odd feeling. She remembers what it was like to choke Before, how lightheaded and dizzying it was at times – the mild panic that would set in and make you feel like you were dying. But now…the Afterlife takes away that feeling. The fear and gut-reaction of death is almost removed from your being and replaced with nothingness. The choking feels like breathing yet her mind knows that it shouldn’t.

“Beetlejuice, I…”

“No, I get that you wanna keep this professional, sure, whatever, get over yourself. But if this dude is trying something…” the anger doesn’t go to his hair because he’s not really _feeling it_ , not this time.

Sure, it would suck if it were true, but he’d just met her. He didn’t really give a shit if she was being stalked by her murderer. Not really. Well, okay, kinda. But only because if something happened, he’d be set back even further, sent to another counselor, and that would take time.

He just wants his fucking powers back, wants things to go back to normal.

And maybe playing the card of caring client will get him somewhere sooner.

Can’t hurt.

And…he actually…kinda…likes the attention she gives him, having her dark eyes on him. It shoots a tingling sensation through his being. It isn’t _awful_.

“Beetlejuice,” she’s shaking her head, looking like a deer in the headlights and, fuck, if that wide-eyed look doesn’t do something for him.

He holds her gaze; lets the way she says his name rattle around in his head a little longer before responding.

“I’m just saying. If he’s trying something, be careful, yanno?”

Slowly, she nods. “I…appreciate that.” He doesn’t add anything else in fear it’ll seem too clingy, too out of character. A part of him is very aware that she can read him. “So, you never said anything about how your week was going.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, so you’re regrouped enough to counsel me now?” he teases. She shoots him a look. “What? You can call _me_ out.”

“I’ll give you that. Now tell me about your week.”

Cecelia listens to him ramble about his neighbor’s dog being a terror and recognizes that he’s deflecting by story-telling, but she appreciates the second to gather her thoughts. Things could be worse, right? The guy who’s obsessed with her and murdered her is _here_ , but things could be worse…

And…was that actual concern that he was giving her? Concern coming from Beetlejuice: The Ghost with the Most who often hints about being a demon – his mom _was_ a demon, right?

“Of course I’m gonna mess with your property, you’re my _neighbor_! What do you think this is?”

She lets this go too, appreciating that he’s actually filling the time with speech this session. On paper, Beetlejuice reads a little differently than he appears. Once she’d gotten the news that he was going to be her client, she spent a lot of time reading up on his file – and holy Hell was it long.

But the being before her doesn’t strike her in the way that it seems he should, like others had warned her. It wasn’t fear she felt when around him like Lillian said she would.

The silence in the room made her stir, foggy mind dissipating.

“I have to ask: what makes today’s session so different?”

“How do ya mean?” those grimy shoes are back on her desk, a smug look plastered across his face.

Cece purses her lips. “I’m not imagining things, the vibe in here is very different than before.”

“Oh yeah? How so?”

“Well, for one you’re _talking_ ,” she speaks candidly.

He shrugs. “Guess I gotta be stuck with this for 300 hours so I should enjoy.” It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that she’s distracted – takes Beetlejuice about three minutes. “Now enough about me,” he laughs. At this, she rolls her eyes with a sigh. “What?”

“I don’t think you understand how this works, Beetlejuice…”

Now he’s annoyed. “Oh, no, I do. You expect that I’m going to get comfortable with you suddenly and you’re going to hear all of my _stuff_ and not add anything about you.”

"That’s exactly how counseling-”

Before she can finish, he holds his hand up. “You think I don’t know?” he clicks his tongue, pulls his legs from off her desk, and leans closer to her. “I’m not a regular patient, toots…”

The defiance on her face shoots irritation up his spine. Stubborn little dead girl.

“So, what exactly are you demanding, Beetlejuice?” her voice is steady.

“Answer my damn questions once in a while.”

Cecelia nods slowly, patient and swallowing down some irritation.

“What questions do you have?” At this, he almost chokes on air. Was she actually asking?

He wanted one that was personal but figured she may be too guarded for that.

The annoyance that Cecelia is feeling overwhelms her for a moment.

“Lots. But mostly, how’d ya end up so powerful?”

Cece tries to play it off and Beetlejuice is too tired to partake, his hair tinting red.

“How do you think?” she deflects and, fuck, is he done.

“Keep talking in circles, I’m _out_.”

With that, Beetlejuice shoves the chair back, and walks out. The slam of the door startles and surprises Cece, but she doesn’t let the emotion overtake her.

Another day then.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This...took a turn of its own...blame Beetlejuice. I hope some sleazy, steamy Beej brings you joy.

Late. Again. He’s often late, he realizes. Was he thrilled to be coming back to counseling? Fuck no. It felt like he was just here. And he was. A part of him wishes he could go back to living even for a bit, with all the highs and lows – just to get away from this.

The sole reason he’s back is because the last five days had been _dragging,_ making him utterly aware that he misses his powers more than anything.

Things ended…weird…last time. Weird enough that he was _thinking about it_ all week.

Like, why did it bother him so much that she’s guarded and not sharing her personal stuff? If he dug _real deep,_ he could assume that it was because she was Recently Deceased compared to him and yet had way more power at this point.

Those fuckers taking it away from him, tasking him to do this damn therapy bullshit.

Unfair. Just downright unfair.

Also:

Jeans today?

_Oh._

Cecelia’s walking down the hall a few feet in front of him after appearing from someone’s office, flipping through a file and so, completely _not_ paying attention to anyone around her…especially the fact that he’s checking out her ass in those tight, tight pants.

Her heeled boots click and echo and those ripped jeans hug her ass _so_ nicely…

Well, fuck.

So maybe he started off on the wrong foot with her the first few meetings. Maybe he was a little defensive, a little unruly, a little unkind. But she wanted him to _share_ things and _talk_ – yuck! What kind of happy, joyous bullshit was that?

Yet every time the anger gets the better of him and he winds up at home, he realizes _why_ he came in the first place – he felt _useless_ without his power. And, honestly, coming here isn’t so painful…

And the view doesn’t hurt either.

He watches her walk into her office then he leans against the doorframe, gets real cozy staring at her swaying hips as she steps toward her desk.

“Knock, knock,” he pounds on the open door.

Cecelia startles, almost dropping the file in her hand.

“Beetlejuice?”

“In the flesh,” he chuckles, stepping into the room. “Little underdressed, aren’t ya?”

Cecelia would blush if she could. She looked forward to jeans days if she were honest. It felt good to not have to dress up for work.

“What are you up to today?” she slaps the file on her desk, grabbing her coffee to sip.

“Wha…uh… _you_.”

“Me?” she repeats him.

“Yeah…we…had…an…” he stalls momentarily. “We…didn’t, did we?”

Her eyes widen as she swallows her coffee down. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise her if they did have an appointment and she forgot. Overall, she tries to keep her schedule together so she doesn’t have to come in for one session and can have time during the week to get some paperwork done, uninterrupted.

“Uhh…” she shoves her paperwork off her desk calendar, dainty fingers skimming along the week until she stops on the current date. “No. Our next appointment is Thursday.” When she glances up, she can see the frustration playing across his face.

“Oh…” _fuck_ , fuck, of course it isn’t until later this week, he realizes he ditched early last session and had no idea when to come back. All he knows is that he _needs_ his powers back. It’s getting entirely too frustrating not having them. “Well, I…”

If she were honest, she had plenty of time to get her work done later. The fact that he came today is a breakthrough in itself so she really doesn’t want to turn him away…

“I…have time now, if you’d like.”

He perks up slightly, “Really?”

Nodding, she rounds her desk. “It’ll give me an excuse to get away from some paperwork.”

Without hesitation, Beetlejuice takes a few steps to get to the couch and flops down unceremoniously. He stares at her, expecting her to begin, and then she turns to grab her coffee mug, ass at eye-level a few feet away. Beetlejuice can’t help but stare, so close to touch her…and fuck, did he want to. Those damn jeans threw him off.

“I…uh…” he stumbles, but is completely distracted.

“I’m surprised you’re here, actually,” she starts to say as she turns back to face him. A chill runs down him as she bites her lower lip.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” he tries to play it cool but he can feel himself getting antsy.

A shrug, “You left early last time, just figured you hated this.”

Still for a second, he considers this. “Yeah, maybe. I just…” he sighs. “I got hours, I know…and…”

“You want to make them up,” she finishes for him.

“Yeah…”

A nod and a purse of her lips. “I get it. Works for me,” she shrugs. “Last time you seemed…” she pauses, breathes a heavy breath. “-irritated.”

“Really, now?” he deadpans.

She rolls her eyes at this and his interest perks up. Is she actually showing some emotion now instead of being the unfeeling robot she pretended to be those first few visits? Where is the holier-than-thou attitude now?

“You gonna keep giving me shit or can we level with each other here?” she crinkles up her nose, stares at him before letting the expression fall.

“Wow, she _swears_ ,” he remarks to which she narrows her eyes at him. “What, toots? You in the jeans and the ‘fuck off’ vibe you’re giving today…it’s just different.” He kinda likes it.

There’s nothing to say to that, or maybe she’s using her silence as a way to bring out more of an outburst on his part, but he’s finding himself suddenly intrigued…

She lets her hair down, runs her fingers through it, sighs. It probably smells nice, it’s probably soft…she probably likes it pulled…

_Fuck_.

Her eyes travel from the coffee mug to him and he gulps.

It’s a weird day, he’s feeling too antsy…can’t seem to calm down…

“Okay,” she speaks with a sigh. “Enough playing around with this. I get what you want.”

Fuck!

“You do?”

A sigh, “Yes.” She shifts and his eyes are back on her thighs in those tight jeans. As she sips from the drink, he raises his eyes to her. She swallows. “You still won’t share unless I answer some of your questions.”

Oh.

“Right!” he nods, trying to focus on her words, distract himself.

As she hoists herself up on the desk, he inhales at the movement, watching her breasts jiggle a little from the jump.

Fuck.

By now he’s got a halfie and he’s angling his arm over his lap, trying to make it seem natural.

When she looks away to place the mug down, he quickly grabs a pillow, places it on his lap, acts _cool._

“But you’ll have to respect _some_ boundaries, alright?”

“Do you _know me_?” he jokes.

But wait…does this mean he’s broken her down? That those walls will be crumbling? Had he been successful?

“So, you get one question before we start today.”

_Shit, shit, shit…_ he needs to make it a good one.

_Do you like to be dominated or will you dominate me?_

Uh…probably not a good one for right now, he decides.

_What color are your panties today?_

He could see the outline of them while he was checking out her ass…not a thong. Cheeksters? Oooh…

Ok, no. _No_.

It has to be something good for the first one, has to be something she’d maybe appreciate.

The whole power thing was clearly off limits so far, given the circumstances last time.

But…Ah! He had it.

“That murderer still stalking you?”

And bingo, it works. She can’t hide the instant surprise on her face.

Cecelia’s instant reaction is to close off, but she was trying something new for her. New clients, new expectations, new rules.

“Actually, kind of. He works here now so…he ‘runs into me’ more often than I’d like. Mentioned it to Lillian to see if he’s actually supposed to be here…he works first floor.”

“Newly offed himself then, huh?” Beetlejuice hums.

Cecelia nods, sighing. She never imagined that she wouldn’t feel remorse for someone killing themselves. What Ryan had done was inexcusable and she struggled with feeling bad for his recent demise. Did a part of her feel like he deserved to suffer? Did that make her a bad counselor, given the circumstances of him _killing her_!?

A part of her leveled with herself. She had clients she’d established with, they felt comfortable working with her and he took that away from them. Not to mention the added trauma when they found out their counselor was murdered.

“In my graduate work, they always talked about things like not accepting your clients bartering with you for sessions. No one ever discussed how to handle when your client kills you and you meet them in the Afterlife…”

Beetlejuice makes a face. “Who knew?”

He wonders how the guy did it…does she have a sick scar? Where is the point of impact? An image floods to his mind and he recognizes that his halfie is now a full-blown problem from thinking of her topless.

Cecelia narrows her eyes at him and he stills, feeling like he’s caught being hot for teacher. He lets out a rough, “ _What_?”

She shrugs. “I just…have a few things I read about you from your file and…”

Fuck, if that doesn’t stroke his ego…

“Oh yeah? What’d ya read?” he wriggles his eyebrows. “You a fan? Want me to sign somethin’?”

There’s a quick intake of breath before he watches her eyes trace down his tie to the pillow pressed in his lap, then back.

…He probably took that _way_ differently than she’d intended.

“I have a lot of questions, but I guess to start…” at this, he’s intrigued. “In your file, it’s listed a total of two jobs in your Afterlife – one I know you’re not interested in discussing, and the other…”

So, they’re jumping right in, are they? Okay.

“And the other?” he repeats her, a smirk forming on his lips. He can’t help it. He wants to hear her say it, wants to hear the inflection in her voice, know if there’s judgement, learn if she’s any _fun_ …

She shrugs. “And the other is Dante’s Inferno Room.”

“Which is…?” he tries to pull from her.

She bites her lip and he wonders if she’s aware of his current predicament because _fuck_ this isn’t helping one bit.

“A strip club,” she answers simply. “Curious if they got their information wrong.”

Beetlejuice takes a second to respond mostly because he’s trying to read her reaction.

“Nah, spot on. You know the place?”

This throws her slightly, as if she’s surprised he asked this. He smirks again and she regroups.

“Yes…I know the place,” she stumbles through her speech.

Does she _actually_ know the place, Beetlejuice wonders.

Cecelia knows he’s trying to make her uncomfortable. It’s very obvious to her that he’s pushing the boundaries, trying to see how far she’ll let him go. And she’s willing to meet him blow-for-blow just so he’ll let down those walls, realize he _can_ trust her, build that rapport. If that’s what it takes for this client, then she’ll see how far she can take it too. It’s almost a challenge to her.

“Yeah...good times,” he huffs a laugh, arching back against the couch to pop his spine. The pillow almost slips from his lap and he scurries to grab it before his situation is noticed. Fuck, it won’t go down…

“I gotta be honest, that’s as far as I was able to read up on you before you started showing up,” Cecelia hops off the desk but still leans against it. She sips more cold coffee. “Anything worth noting that I missed?”

Beetlejuice hums at that, trying to pretend that he hadn’t noticed the slight jiggle of her breasts when she hopped down.

Man, was he wound today…

“Well, quick synopsis: got shoved into bookkeeping, went well for a while until they found out I was embezzling money…” he chuckles. “Shit-canned, started hanging out there…great moolah-making idea: I knew the ladies who worked there, they were interested in a little side-hustle, so I started…uh…helpin’ ‘em out.”

Cece raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“Well, uh…yanno.”

“Educate me.”

_Oh, fuck, would he love to…_

“Uh, I…” why was he sweating?

Cecelia figures she has an idea of what he’s insinuating, but she wants to see if he’ll take that extra shove to get there. Turning away from him for a second, she reaches over her desk to get his file she’d left out this morning.

Beetlejuice’s mouth goes slack. All of these instances just seem to be occurring at the perfect storm of a moment. Staring at her ass in those jeans again as she bends over the desk is somehow too much for him to take and he feels his cock twitch.

“If you’ll be okay with it, I’ll just read it if you…” she turns back to see Beetlejuice’s retreating form. “Hey, where’re you-”

It takes a second for everything to process for her and she wonders if she pushed too hard, too fast. Glancing out into the hallway, she doesn’t see him anymore.

What the Hell?

Sighing, she turns back to her empty office and slams herself into her chair. So maybe her plan hadn’t been successful…maybe she hadn’t made him trust her. But she was determined to keep trying.

Until then, she has a little bit more time before she figures she should get back to paperwork.

Rifling through her top desk drawer she pulls out the purple cloth, sets it on her desk, unwraps it gingerly.

She can feel its power emanating and takes a ragged breath before whispering the words:

_Te rogamus, audi nos._

•••

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Of course.

Of _fucking_ course he’d have a situation…damn it. All he can think of is the time he’s missing the longer he lingers in the hallway away from her office, hands shoved in pockets.

He’s half tempted to just go in the bathroom, take care of his raging libido so it didn’t pop back up if she bent over that fucking desk again.

Shit.

Fine…

•••

Cecelia isn’t sure she should be doing this, but she spent so much time tracking down these crystals…she has to use them. Unlike the first experience with new magic, this time would be better.

It still slightly frightens her how quickly she’s able to pick up these tricks in the Netherworld. Helpful, interesting, but overall a little startling.

•••

‘ _Beetlejuice…oh, daddy…’_

He imagines she’s got a daddy kink. Has to. As a counselor, right?

So, how did he get here? Well, he’d started off thinking of Maria, that horned demoness from Dante’s…figured that was a little more _understandable_ to jerk off to, right? Not your freaking _counselor_.

Yet it wasn’t doing it for him, wasn’t what he wanted to picture.

It’s because she’s _new_.

Like a…new car smell, or something…yeah, that’s it!

Tightening his grip just enough, he bites his lip to stifle his moan as he thinks of her unbuttoning those jeans, sliding them down those creamy thighs. She turns around and leans herself over that desk again, elbows propping her up as she gazes back at him with those bedroom eyes.

_'Come on, Beej,’_ she’s saying.

“Oh, God damn it…”

His hand slams against the wall above the toilet, aiming himself as best he can as he reaches that peak, spilling into the bowl.

A sigh leaves him as he gazes up at the fluorescent lights above him.

Ok, how long had that been? How many minutes of counseling had he missed just to beat off in a bathroom?

Fuck.

Quickly, he buttons himself up, straightens his tie, bolts from the bathroom, and glares at the dead guy giving him a weird look.

Down the hall, her door is still open and he ends up peeking in to find her still at her desk, engrossed in something.

He hears a familiar voice and his eyebrows furrow.

_Scarecrow?_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just having some fun with this chapter. Had to throw this in there - don't worry, things will work out ;)

Cecelia glances up at the figure standing in her doorway, surprise filling her. She shifts the bottom crystal, the sound in the room silencing instantly. Her hands fold the purple cloth back up and she shoves the wrap in her drawer again, locking it with a wave of her hand.

“You’re back,” she tries not to sound surprised.

“Uh, yeah, I…” he shakes his head. “Had to take care of a thing…” a single strand of his hair tints pink.

Cecelia doesn’t push, mostly because she’s still startled by his reappearance, almost getting caught doing something she shouldn’t be…

Beetlejuice is tentative, cautiously re-entering the room to take his seat again.

That air’s changed, he notices.

Maybe he’d hallucinating, it’s all in his mind.

“You…seem frazzled,” she mentions.

He chuckles. “Same to you.”

There’s a soft smile that plays on her face and he appreciates the humor as opposed to her defenses shooting back up.

“Can I…” he sighs, slumps further into the couch cushions. “Do I get another question?”

Cece is still slightly surprised that he showed back up, that he didn’t run. Where had he gone?

“Uh…yeah!” she answers too quickly and forces herself to take a shaky breath. “What is it?”

“What do _I_ get to wear for dress-down day?” he wriggles his eyebrows at her.

“Jesus!” she lets out a laugh, hiding her face.

“Nah, really! The jeans look good on ya! Natural, yanno? Makes ya more…down to Earth.”

She nods at this. “I never want to feel like I’m above anyone else.”

_I’d let you be above me_ …, Beetlejuice thinks but slaps himself in his head. He can feel his mind drifting to some inappropriate things once again. He wants to dig his heels in to stop himself before he gets too far and needs to go wank it in a public bathroom.

It’s…kinda humorous, actually. Kinda skeezy…kinda… _him_.

“Do I get another question? Like, a real one this time,” he laughs. She nods, smirking. “How hard was this whole being dead thing for you to, like…wrap your head around?”

The question sobers the room and the two sit silent for a few beats.

She once again knows that he’s pushing the boundaries and she’s tired of watching him walk out the door.

“It was kind of a shock, honestly…” she starts. He actually listens, curious how this will play out. She bites her tongue, trying to find the right way to word what’s on her mind. “This is going to sound super offensive and I’m sorry, but…”

“Do you _know_ who you’re talkin’ to? Please.”

She halfway smiles at this. “True,” a hand cards through her hair. “I’m _young_ compared to many here, Beetlejuice. It doesn’t take a genius to see that. Hell, I’m surprised you haven’t commented yet – lots of my other clients have.”

He shrugs. “It’s impolite,” then gives her a devilish smirk, both of them knowing that he is _not_ one to care about offending anyone. “So you’re saying that it was a shock to you because you were a healthy young woman who don’t-need-no-man and ya ended up here in the world of the dead?”

“If you wanna put it like that, yes.” She realizes how unfair that is – she never thought she was _invincible_ or something, just didn’t expect to be dead at thirty. “I guess I got comfortable and felt like I didn’t need to be guarded around my clients because we were building something and nothing had gone wrong in a while…”

“-and then ya got-” he made a throat-cutting gesture with his hands, a noise to boot.

How _had_ it happened? His mind was drifting to some unsafe territory and he knew he needed to get out of dodge if he was going to walk out without another raging hard-on. Today was a weird day.

“I guess I was just naïve.”

Beetlejuice almost nods. “Naïve to think that a client won’t kill you? Wow, your standards are…” he whistles.

She waves him off then rises to her feet and Beetlejuice swears if she sits on the desk again…

Only she doesn’t; instead she sits in the chair across from him.

“Beetlejuice, I’m sure you don’t buy it, but counseling can be very rewarding. What do you hope to get out of this?”

The question surprises him, but he doesn’t show it. “Such a quick subject change!” he tries to stall.

She shrugs. “Well, we haven’t gotten much time together between you walking out early or running off.”

“-Did I hear someone talking in here before I walked in? Did I interrupt a phone call?”

Cecelia tries to keep her face neutral and she’s grateful for once that death has taken the color out of her cheeks. In life, her face would be heated and give her away in an instant.

“I’m unsure what you heard,” she leaves it at that. “Stalling much?”

Beetlejuice smiles sheepishly, noting that she seems like she’s hiding something. If she thinks he hadn’t seen her brush that cloth into her desk, she’s got another thing coming.

“Well, I figured this is a great alternative to dating, yanno? Maybe find some desperately sad client sitting in the waiting room out there, know what I mean?” he nudges his elbow into the air.

“Oh? How’s that going for you?”

Sheesh, she’s _different_ today. And he likes it. The banter…

“ _So_ well,” he adds, “swimmin’ in pussy” just to see how she’ll react. She doesn’t.

“I just…get the sense that this is about something else entirely.”

“Lay it on me.”

“Sure. I think you’re desperate to follow through with the plan solely because you want your powers back.”

Beetlejuice scoffs, presses a hand to his chest, really makes a scene of it, then deadpans: “that obvious?”

“Sadly, yeah.”

“Look, can ya blame me? I mean, I know you didn’t know me before, but, I was kinda a big deal.”

“And you think that was solely because of your powers?”

Beetlejuice squints at her. “Yeah?” he says it like it’s the most obvious thing since the ending of the Titanic film.

“I wonder what makes you think that.”

Beetlejuice is pretty sure this is her way of getting him to bite, pretty sure she’s calculated and knows _exactly_ what she’s doing, but he can’t help it – he bites.

“Well, let’s see…the last three times I felt like I was getting somewhere with someone, the only reason they were even talking to me was because of my powers.”

“So you think people just use you for your knowledge and abilities?”

“Yeah! For sure,” he says it and he feels exhausted for some reason.

“And, what, you want your powers back so you can go back to how things were?”

“Yes,” he answers instantly.

“Were you happy with how things were?”

“I…” this he doesn’t answer so instantly and he knows she’s reading into it, but he doesn’t have anything worth _saying_ that will stop it. Not to mention the silence has gone on too long and…damn it.

“I appreciate you diving right in, but…you gotta give me some time to _digest_.”

Cecelia nods, “I understand. I’d rather you answer truthfully than just that knee-jerk reaction.”

“What about you? Happier here than Before?” they both know he’s stalling again, but he doesn’t care.

“No,” she shrugs with a laugh then her expression falters. “No. Not even close.”

The honesty from her is sobering, even Beetlejuice can feel that. Hide the humor and the defense mechanisms, this was actually an _honest_ conversation and when was the last time he had one of those?

Cecelia can’t help but feel relief from admitting that aloud. A normal situation, this should not be a session _for_ the counselor. Most normal situations, she’s able to deflect the questions and most of the time people are thrilled to get the spotlight back onto them. But Beetlejuice is different clearly and she knows that to win him over she’s going to have to get used to these discussions. It feels more like a friendship and less like therapy Maybe that makes it easier for Beetlejuice to feel comfortable. Maybe she should give him to someone else, take a look at the caseload…but she can’t, in good conscience, do that.

“Pretty lonely place, huh?” Beetlejuice’s voice pulls her from her thoughts.

“You’re not kidding. It’s…harder here than Life.”

Beetlejuice doesn’t know the feeling – not entirely – having recently been alive for, what, a grand total of fifty seconds. The Netherworld is…comfortable; it’s what he’s used to.

“You meet anybody yet?” he means it in just a friendly way but she takes it completely different for a second, those walls building up only for her to force them back down.

“How do you-”

He interrupts her rapidly, knowing this could take a turn for the worst. “-Like a pal? A buddy!”

“Oh, no,” she dismisses.

“Well, you ever need a night on the town, you know you’ve got your pal Beej,” he points at himself enthusiastically, smirks.

Cecelia shakes her head, “Right, I’ll keep that in mind…”

•••

Overall, the interaction hadn’t been _that_ Godawful, just slightly awkward in some places. Beetlejuice could handle that if that’s what counseling is like.

However, he _cannot_ handle her in jeans apparently. Someone had knocked on her door and interrupted their session. His eyes were _glued_ as she stood in the doorway chatting, him feeling that stirring once again.

“God damn dead girl…” he cusses, adjusting his halfie at just the memory of it.

Their session had ended two hours ago and he knows he should have stuck around to see _just_ when she left for the night, but…well, he was raring to go again and figured he’d had enough of jerking it in public restrooms for the day.

Only he’d been distracted when he got home. Something about that _sound_ he heard when he got back to her office. He wasn’t hallucinating. It sounded like Lydia. Talk about a boner killer.

Leaning against his kitchen counter, he glances at the clock – broken, of course. Had to be about 6…maybe…she should be out of that office soon, right?

Beetlejuice remembered seeing her shove something into that desk drawer.

Was he planning on sneaking into the nice counselor’s office? Hell yes he was.

•••

“Well, fuck me…” this would be so much easier if he’d still had his powers.

He figures his best bet is to sneak in close to closing and find a nice cozy hiding place. Some janitor’s closet happens to be open when he pulls on the handle and with no one in the hallway, he figures why not? Shoving himself between a steel shelf, he pulls some mops to cover the space and leans back, head resting against the cold cinderblocks.

There isn’t noise out the door and after a while he can hear people with the typical, “see you tomorrow” and heel clicks down the hall. Perfect.

Hiding himself was pointless, no one came in. Now…to get some keys for the place…

Beetlejuice glances around, coming up with nothing. Don’t they usually keep keys on them, the assholes? Damn.

Grumbling, he leaves the room to find her office and beg some higher power for it to be open.

Maybe he’d have to find this janitor and swindle them into…-

Oh, fuck.

“Hey, you lost?” a voice calls from behind him. He spins on his heels to face a short, horned lady with a bunch of keys on her belt. “The place just shut down, sir, you’re gonna have to-”

“I’m so glad I found you!” he puts on his best cheery tone. “Listen, I am in desperate need of your help,” he steps closer, almost drapes his arm over her shoulder but doesn’t want to take it too far and scare her off. “My gal works here and she’s been _so_ stressed. She’s doing some paperwork and she forgot her favorite pen. You know, one of those _really_ smooth ones where the ink comes out just right? I don’t get it, but she’s been a raging pain in my ass and without that pen…well, I’ll be sleepin’ in the bathtub again.” He sighs heavily. “Help a brother out?”

The janitor is still wet behind the ears and Beetlejuice is very aware that they often have to hire the newly dead because, well, they need a sense of _purpose_ – need to feel like life is still going on. Once that phase passes, you get _pretty_ fuckin’ comfortable about not working for the rest of the Afterlife. Well, if you can help it…

“That’s really sweet of you to come get it for her.”

“So, how about it? You let me into her office?”

The janitor doesn’t even hesitate. “Sure. What room?”

Easy.

When they get there, she pulls out the key and opens up, about to step inside.

“Ah, see, yeah, that’s the thing…client confidentiality, yanno? And she keeps the place kinda messy…I hate to have you - hey, I’m sure you got a lot to do, I’ll just pull it closed when I’m done!”

The girl nods. “Sure thing. I hope you find it,” she walks off with a wave and Beetlejuice stands there for a moment, trying to pick his jaw up off the floor. That. Was. Way. Too. Simple.

•••

Cecelia pauses before snapping her fingers to light her fireplace across the room. Hesitating before pouring a glass of wine, she leans back against the kitchen counter. This part of her existence isn’t too far from what it was Before: evenings alone. She misses her friends, misses some of that social interaction of going out to bars and slamming back some drinks while forgetting about the week’s drama.

Now in her Netherworldly home, she really doesn’t have anyone to go out with and that knowledge hits hard tonight.

Wine bottle back in the fridge, she decides to say ‘fuck it’ and get ready for a night out.

•••

“You’re fuckin’ with me…” Beetlejuice shifts through the drawer once more, hoping he missed something.

But no, he comes up short. Nothing but pens, some gum, and bags of tea.

Son of a bitch.

He saw something earlier, hadn’t he? She shoved something in the drawer, some cloth thing. Some communication device, maybe? If he could get ahold of that, maybe he could cause some trouble…

The frustration makes him want to trash the place, but he doesn’t want to deal with the repercussions so he takes a deep breath and continues his search.

•••

Cecelia takes a breath even though she doesn’t need to, the habit taking hold as she enters the nightclub. The amount of people in this club is overwhelming to her, especially since she hasn’t been out in…how long? And especially since everyone is _dead_. It’s awful to say, but some people’s afterlife appearance is worse than others, that of nightmares, and when you’re shoulder-to-shoulder wound with them…

The list of cocktails is…interesting. There’s something for everyone. From some kind of mucus grog to a normal bottle of wine to virgin blood, this place really takes many into consideration. It’s…nice, if not eerie.

Nothing really strikes her but the wine, but she didn’t come out to drink what she could at home, so she orders something with rum – a Latin name – and sips it when it comes.

Spinning on the barstool, she comes face-to-chest with a zombified man who starts groaning in her general direction and she scurries away to an empty table. Only he follows. Slowly, but he follows.

“You here alone?” it’s difficult to understand him but this comes out clearer than anything else.

“I am,” she says it and turns in hopes he’ll wander away. There’s a live band going on stage and it will be nice to drown some of these people out when they start their set, she thinks.

The grumbling and groaning continues behind her and she feels a hand on her neck, swiping her hair to one shoulder. An eerie stir shoots down her spine and she can _feel_ this one.

Before she can backhand the creep, a sharply dressed man steps over.

“You will _not_ be touching her again, mate, that I can assure you.” The voice is…British? “Walk away now or I swear to you I’ll make you _mush_.” The grumbling recedes as he stumbles away, leaving the dark bearded man. “Are you alright, love?”

Blinking, Cecelia shrugs. “Creeped out, but.”

The man nods sternly then motions to the seat beside her. “May I?” he’s very proper.

“Oh! Yes, that’s – yes.”

After he sits, he opens his mouth to start speaking again, but the band starts playing their first notes. The man looks frustrated but humored and he leans in closer. Cecelia finds herself leaning in too.

He presses a hand to his chest. “Laszlo. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Cecelia,” she goes to shake his hand.

“What are you drinking?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know how to pronounce it.”

“Fancy another?”

He’s coming off kind of strong and giving her a certain look she’s pretty sure she can see right through, but it’s nice that he noticed her discomfort and came to help.

“I think I need to finish this first before you start feeding me drinks,” she jokes.

He makes a fake offended face, leans back in his chair. “Fair enough,” he calls over the music.

•••

Everywhere. He looked _everywhere_ and this unknown speaking device is nowhere to be seen. Digging and having to be orderly and clean about it just makes Beetlejuice even more pissed off.

The rage boils and he slams a hand against the filing cabinet beside him, cussing under his breath. From the corner of his eye he can see movement, the cabinet drawer cracking open ever so slightly.

His greedy fingers instantly reach to pull the thing open completely, wondering just how he did that. It almost felt like a jolt of his powers juicing into him for a moment. Odd.

No way. No fuckin’ _way!_ Damn, did he hit the jackpot.

The drawer is stacked with files but the first one he sees is laying face up, his name printed across the main page in cursive. His file. That damn file he’d seen Cece reading the first day they met.

Hurriedly, he grabs it and instantly he is filled with _so much regret_. His hands burn, the skin sizzling as he drops the file to the ground.

Well, fuck. He’s always wondered what happened when someone other than The Highest holds these files, someone it’s not lent out to. Welp, now he knows.

He knuckles through the pain to pick it up, set it on her desk, suck on his burning fingers for a few seconds while he plots out a plan.

It takes him a few minutes, but he manages to jimmy the lock open with a pen and some other trinkets from her office.

Inside is like reading a fan letter filled with all his highlights. He flips to the last few pages, sees what’s been updated.

So it’s been written that he’s seeing a counselor, that his hours will be calculated and his work will determine ‘next steps.’ Sheesh. Did these things update themselves or is it whoever has it on hand?

Hmm…

Backing up a few pages, he notes information about the Maitland’s and the Deetz’s (though names are not used in order to protect the families – again, who knew?) Re-reading these things makes Beetlejuice fill with pride and maybe a little sense of grief, loss…

He shuts it quickly, glances around the room, and shoves it inside his jacket, under his arm.

Now to just get the fuck outta dodge before that janitor comes back…

•••

Laszlo is good company, Cecelia decides. The band makes it hard for them to really speak, but they exchange a few comments between songs or spoken close to each other’s ears.

“I think they’d almost be good if we were drunk,” Laszlo hums beside her ear.

She can’t help but laugh, looking around to make sure nobody heard that. Some of the beings at this bar are slightly terrifying. Laszlo looks calm and smug, unafraid even, as the band finishes up.

Once it’s quieter, he leans his elbows on the table, looks up at her under his lashes. She thinks he looks pretty dashing for a dead guy.

“I’m gonna be honest, it’s nice to have someone to sit with at a bar,” she can’t help but say.

The man looks like he’s biting his tongue, stopping himself from saying something and she wonders just what it is.

“Now time for me to be honest: you caught my eye the second you walked through that door.”

She laughs. “Right, I can assume why.”

“Oh, yes?” his eyes unabashedly take in her outfit.

“Yeah, I’m pretty freshly dead.”

“I…” he leans back slightly. “Well, yes, but your beauty was the striking thing.”

She’s flattered and normally this bullshit type of flirtation doesn’t work on her, but for some reason tonight she’s really taken with him. She feels drunk but it’s only been one drink and can dead people _get_ drunk?

Cece covers her face, feeling flushed and giddy. “Stop, I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t hide,” he grips her wrists gently, pulls her hands to his, kisses her knuckles. She feels an icy chill run down her spine. “I’m not normally this forward, Cecelia, I’m new to this whole thing, but I saw something I liked and I figured why not get to know you.”

“Are you Recently Deceased?” she can’t tell with his complexion.

A small smile plays across his face. “No, no, I’m not.”

She pulls her hands back so she can finish her drink. He’s staring at her, looking shy and slightly flabbergasted for a moment.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks what’s on her mind.

A hesitation and then, “Not letting you walk out that door alone tonight.” His deep voice is sultry. Something in Cecelia stirs to life.

And then it’s like she’s falling – a quick blur just over Laszlo’s shoulder, black and white stripes and she’s feeling _caught_.

Beetlejuice?

For a second, she thinks she’s hallucinating; the lightheaded energy taking over, but she realizes when he glances back at her that it is, indeed, her client. His eyes are wide, biting his lip with a slight overbite sort of snarl.

And why does she _care_ if she sees him? This isn’t during work hours; she’s allowed to go out and have a drink. How many times had she run into a client during her Life?

Does he know Laszlo, she wonders suddenly. Does it _matter_?

She turns her attention away from Beetlejuice as he takes a seat in a corner booth and looks around shiftily. Was he here alone? What the Hell did it matter?

Trying to shake it off, she smiles at Laszlo who is just as attentive to her as he was five seconds ago when Beetlejuice walked in.

“How about that drink now?” she asks.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, hang in with me - I have so much planned for this fic!

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Couldn’t be. Nope, not buying it…

Beetlejuice sighs, setting his head on the wood table, the book feeling heavy under his arm. Of all the luck in the Netherworld, he had to walk straight into the same bar she was at tonight. Tonight of all nights.

Holy fuck maybe he should start believing in karma.

But she looked just as flabbergasted as he was so maybe he’s in the clear and she won’t swing by while he’s looking through his file.

He purposefully picked a table that she was facing away from and now he is fighting the urge to turn around and make sure she’s not looking when he swipes the file out of his jacket.

“What can I get you?” the waitress startles him mostly because he’s worried it’s Cece.

He orders the house special tonight and shushes the waitress away, laying his head back on the table.

Fuck.

What’s she gonna do when she finds it gone in the morning? He hadn’t really thought that one through. Most he could talk his way out of, but not with her. It has to be returned tonight, right? Fuck, he should’a grabbed those keys from the janitor.

Well, better get crackin’ then.

When the waitress comes, he uses it as an opportunity to pretend to be looking at her, but actually looking behind her to Cece’s table. Is she…here with someone? No, in session she’d just said that…-

“Is there anything else I can get you?” the waitress shoves herself back in his view.

“Uh…actually…a pen?”

The girl looks surprised but sees the file and probably assumes he’s one of The Highest.

“Wow! Sir, I…yes, here,” she hands over her pen from her pocket. “Drink’s on the house tonight.”

Beetlejuice raises a brow as she walks away. Well, fuck, he should’a ordered something more expensive in that case. Shit.

Gazing back, he notices Cece clinking drinks with someone but he can’t quite make out…

He wonders if he’s a client: maybe she does social visits? He could _ask_. Wouldn’t mind a good drinking session with his counselor…

Focus, Beetlejuice! Focus. Damn.

•••

“My, what a quaint little space,” Laszlo’s voice isn’t the only sound on the dimly lit street as they walk back to her place from the bar, done drinking for now. A few neighbors sit in their driveway setting off Netherworld fireworks, others hang out their windows shooting darts from house to house.

It’s interesting the way the Netherworld works when it comes to housing. Neighborhoods are clustered a certain way: some newbies, some age-olds. They try to keep it diverse which is nice…if you have any intention of befriending a neighbor. Cece still isn’t super familiar with many places in the vast Netherworld. It’s way too large for her to explore and _not_ get lost.

“Yours look similar?” she asks as they meander.

Laszlo shrugs, hands in pockets. “Something of the sort,” he almost stumbles when she pulls his arm, changing their direction toward the small park at the end of her street. He makes a humored noise in the back of his throat. “Not quite ready to go home yet?”

“Please no…” she sighs, pressing her head against his bicep. She’s actually feeling her drinks and it’s such a welcomed change. “When you first…died…” she makes a face as she says it. “were you… _bored_?”

“Bored?” he repeats, eyeing her. “No. Not the slightest. I had a…mentor, you could call him. Helped me learn what the Netherworld had to offer.”

“Oh?” she raises a brow at that.

“Yes, very much _oh_ ,” he laughs. “It’d probably turn you red the things I’ve…” he stops, takes in the look on her face.

“What?”

“I’m pretty good at _reading_ people and I must say: you, my dear, are _extremely_ interested, aren’t you?”

She hides her face in her hands. “Is it that obvious?”

“So, what, counseling not doing it for you? Not getting you off anymore now that you’re here?” the blunt manner he’s wording things this last hour is both shocking and alluring to her. “Allow me to be your mentor,” he takes an exaggerated bow.

The idea of this fills Cece with so much joy, having someone take her under their wing, show her the ropes of the Netherworld. She’s been so cooped up in that house of hers since this all began, how many nights had she spent dreaming of a night or two out? It’s why she doesn’t want to go home, why she’s dreading the thought of the silence again. And she doesn’t really need to sleep, she just does it to pass the time, to feel normal – human – still.

“What can we do tonight?”

Laszlo sends her a big smile. “My good, sweet darling, what do you _want_ to do tonight?”

•••

At first, Beetlejuice thinks it must be a faulty pen. Has to be. The fuckin’ thing…yet it writes on napkins just fine.

Beetlejuice can feel the magic radiating off this thing and he knows the others around him probably can too if they pay enough attention. The font is all the same which means the rumors are true about the magic so his handwriting won’t really matter – it’ll correct itself to match the other pages.

Only _nothing fucking sticks_ , not even an indent in the paper.

Unreal.

•••

Cece hadn’t had a real suggestion so Laszlo took it upon himself to make one up for her.

The turn the night ends up taking leaves Cece flabbergasted. One second, she’s on Laszlo’s arm as he’s getting them into some other club, the next she’s standing amongst the crowd and realizing he’s brought her to a rave. Within minutes he’s found someone who he slips money to and he’s coming near her again, nodding toward a corner of the room and urging her forward.

His hand on her lower back, she feels empowered, unafraid. What could happen? She’s already dead. And she hasn’t felt alive since…go figure.

Her body pressed against a wall in the corner, he opens the small bottle he bought and a purple glowing dust waits for her. She’s got no clue what it’s called – it doesn’t look like anything from the Living World – but she’s aware that it would be considered a drug.

The people pressed in this corner near her are all inhaling and she glances up at Laszlo, eyes wide. His half-lidded gaze looks lusty and she bites her lip at their proximity.

“Are you having some?” she calls over the loud music.

He hums beside her ear, a laugh…it ignites something in her.

“This is your first time,” he pauses so she can correct him if needed. She doesn’t. “I’ll hold off, keep you safe.” He’s speaking close to her ear over the loud music and she’s so flattered and feeling _alive_.

Her fingers grip his collar and pull him in for a kiss that’s deep and hungry. His index finger covers over the lip of the bottle for the moment, making sure none of the drug escapes while they lip lock.

As soon as she pulls back, she nods at him and watches his finger lift away from the bottle. She mimics what she’s seen the others do and her next breath is shaky. An almost-sneeze sits just below the surface but she’s quickly overtaken with the feeling of a headache. Closing her eyes, she breathes rapidly even though her body doesn’t need the oxygen. Her mind just feels like it needs air. And then she’s remembering what it’s like to be lightheaded and she stumbles a bit, feeling Laszlo pressing against her – sturdy, stable, safe.

She hums, leaning forward into him, nuzzling against his neck, kissing softly at the skin.

“Cece,” Laszlo’s voice sounds deeper. “Don’t you want to dance?”

•••

Beetlejuice can’t believe it. He’s been through twelve pens and the waitress is starting to catch on that something isn’t right here – he’s not who she thinks he is – but that’s not his fault, he never claimed to be someone he wasn’t. He just stole the book…

And how in the Hell is he going to get it back? Normally, he wouldn’t give two fucks. But…after everything today he actually…really enjoyed their honest conversations. The thought of her turning him in for taking this makes Beetlejuice want to hide. All he wants is his power back, to not feel like even more of an outcast – at least when things were normal, he knew how to handle it. This lack of power made him do weird things.

Clearly something’s wrong, isn’t working, isn’t worth it.

And then his fingertips start burning and he can’t stop the ache. Oh, no…no, no, no…he’d heard that this could happen if files are messed with by those without permission.

He’s got his fingers in the ice water the waitress brought him with his first drink and the cool makes him groan.

He needs to ditch this thing _and fast_.

•••

Apparently, there are still glow bracelets and necklaces in The Netherworld and they hand them out like ecstasy at raves. Which, they also have and Laszlo gave her a firm talking to that it will _not_ mix well with whatever he gave her.

She’s asked several times what he gave her and he’s answered every time, which she appreciates – only she can never remember. It’s something she’s never heard of and she remembers him mentioning it’s a Netherworld special.

Cece likes it, or she thinks she does. She does _now_ and that’s what matters, right? Now is all there is, given her life was taken from her – she used to find herself living for the future, but living is for the _living,_ isn’t it?

The dancing is entertaining. Laszlo isn’t much of a dancer, neither is she and they find themselves laughing together more than anything. Apparently when she’s fucked up, she’s pretty flirty. She’s never been like this before. Drunk, yes, plenty of times but never any type of high. She feels reckless, she feels alive.

“Where else would your mentor take you?” she’s close now, pressed up against his body in this crowd of miscreants, glow bracelets and necklaces on the both of them. Laszlo’s hands instantly go to her hips and she’s leaning into him so hard it’s crushing.

“Dante’s Inferno Room,” he answers simply and she doesn’t ignore his hands on her hips.

Now how does she know that name…?

•••

The stupid building is, of course, locked down and when Beetlejuice goes to check he’s holding the book and his hand is on fire. Judging by his lack of powers and no other way in, he’s stuck with this damn file until tomorrow.

Fuck.

He drops the book partially out of fury, partially because _his fucking hand is on fire_ and then he throws his head back with a loud sigh. Straightening, he shakes it off, does a little self-pep talk.

It takes a second but he shrugs, wondering just how many people he can trick into thinking he’s high and mighty. Would that whole ‘drinks on the house’ thing play out for him?

He picks up the book. He’s so eager to find out, he’s practically skipping. Maybe he’ll be able to drink himself into a stupor for the first time in forever.

•••

Beetlejuice. That’s where she knows this place from! She wants to tell Laszlo, slap his thigh in the cab they’re in and tell him about Beetlejuice. But she knows she can’t. Breach of confidentiality and all that. And it makes her sad, her high mind wanting to tell about the good conversation they had today, about the feeling of a breakthrough and how close she’d been to being caught checking in on an old client with magic she’d learned. God, what had her existence become?

The driver and Laszlo are talking about topiaries and she can’t focus on the conversation whatsoever because she’s bouncy. Gazing out the window proves interesting what with all the neon lights and the crowds of dead people dressed their best. It’s a sight, for sure.

“Laz! Look at that!” she’s practically bouncing in her seat, no belt, scooting closer to poke at his knee and peek out his window at the tall color-changing building.

She’s practically in his lap at the point he finally replies, “You really haven’t been anywhere since you died, have you?”

“Nope,” she shrugs. “I’m sorry, I just – how high does that _go_?” she’s now completely in his lap, lowering the window, and shoving half her body out of it so she can stare skyward as they drive.

“Lady, you’re gonna need to cut that shit out,” the cab driver sounds muffled with her head out the window and normally she’d apologize and sit down, embarrassed, but not tonight.

“You’ll get over it,” she answers dryly and then to Laszlo, “Is _‘Kryptonite’_ a dueling piano bar?!”

“Yes, and they _only_ play 3 Doors Down songs, it’s _torture_.”

She notices his hands on her hips to steady her and every few bumps of the road his grip slides a bit. She can’t tell if he’s doing this on purpose and she also can’t tell if she’s only allowing this because she’s fucked up…but there’s something about Laszlo that’s…alluring. She can’t put her finger on it. She doesn’t normally spend this much time with a stranger.

•••

The first bar Beetlejuice went to for his trickery saw right through him and kicked him out. He needs a place where the staff is pretty gullible. Normally, that would call for…what’s that torture chamber… _Kryptonite_? Yeah, but he’s too far from there, he needs a quick place to try to get shitfaced.

When he finally finds it, he swindles his way in there, squeezes himself between two hotties, and makes a show of needing a dry place on the bar to put his file. He has them _hooked_.

•••

Cece isn’t surprised to see the place is buzzing when they show up and judging by the way everyone’s staring, it’s hard being Laszlo’s arm candy. She feels like she might get eaten.

Does that happen? Oh, God, she’s so worried now.

“Drink?” he points to the bar to go buy her something but she refuses to be alone. “Oh, so eager to stay with me, eh?” he chuckles but she just shoots him a wide-eyed look which makes him glance around. “No, yeah, come with me please.” As they wait at the bar, Laszlo adds, “this place is a lot…different than when I used to come.”

“Did you?” she blurts out, literally covering her mouth after the question leaves her.

“Did I…?” he makes a face. “ _Ohh!_ Did I…cum?” he says this lower, near her ear.

“I’m so sorry, I…I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she has a case of the giggles now and they last through him ordering her a wine.

“Wow, you are a _treat_ like this.”

“I’ve never done this.”

“I can tell.”

“Everything seems to be moving so fast, you know? Like, The Netherworld? I haven’t looked at the time because I’m supposed to work tomorrow.”

Three people are staring at her from the bar and she stares right back, unable to shift her focus. Laszlo glances between her and the ghouls and then places his body in eyeshot to distract.

“Well, hate to break the news but you may not be going.”

“What?” this sobers her.

“Yeah, ‘fraid so. You may have a…living reaction to all this and need to sleep.” As Laszlo speaks, she’s vaguely remembering him tell her about the drug. Something about obtaining it from a witch and how these concoctions could make you _feel_ again – for a price – the price of essentially a loss of a day which you’ll spend lounging around drifting off like a human.

“Oh, fuck,” she sighs.

Her attention is now at the bar where her wine finally awaits and she grabs the glass like someone else is going to take it. Sipping, she thanks Laszlo for the booze and turns her whole body to stare at the girls taking the stage to dance.

“You may be fine tomorrow, I’m…I don’t know.”

“Were _you_?”

“The first time? No,” he says flatly. “Still feeling it?” At this, she turns to him and with her free hand touches his cheek, pulls him in, and kisses him deeply. “I take it there’s my answer.” He hums after. “Though I don’t know you very well yet, I’m assuming this is a…different side of you.”

They take seats close to the stage.

“Very much so.”

As she sips her wine, she watches the girls dance and is completely entranced, amazed at their skill.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” Laszlo speaks close to her ear, his hand on her thigh, calling her out of her trance.

Slowly, she swallows more wine and turns to him with a smile. “I…feel loose. Like, like I went to a chiropractor and my bones all popped and I can _breathe_ again.” She’s suddenly grateful, suddenly wanting to thank him for helping her feel alive. And then her phone is ringing and she’s cursing herself for bringing it along with her – she isn’t even on call and _no one_ calls her ever. “You’re fucking with me…” she sighs, reading the caller ID.

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“Lillian, what do you want?” she answers, not even caring that the music is loud in here.

“Cece, can you go talk your client off the ledge?” her voice seems less harsh at this hour – whatever this hour is – and her words sober Cece.

“Wait, what?” she’s still so used to counseling the _living_. A crisis here looks a lot different.

“It’s Beetlejuice, he started at The Gilded Sarcophagus, made a real scene there. He got kicked out of there and told a waitress that he’ll be at _Kryptonite_. Get to him before the cops do, yeah? Looks bad on our end.”

Cece somehow has enough control to know to hang up before she cusses Lillian out.

“We have to go, Laszlo, I’m sorry.”

“Everything alright?”

“I…have another bar to run to.”

“Another date?” he jokes.

“Something like that.”


	8. Chapter 8

Cece almost feels like what Laszlo gave her is wearing off, like the Netherworld is no longer rose-tinted…and it _sucks_. The ride to Dante’s Inferno Room was a lot more joyous than this.

“Look, there’s client-patient confidentiality, alright? I can’t breach that. If you follow me in, you’ll know who I’m working with. I’m sure you’re a little curious, but it’s not right to involve you.”

“So, this is how you get rid of all your dates, isn’t it?” he’s joking, she can tell by the tone of voice.

“Date?” she repeats. “You think this is a date?”

He smirks and leans in to kiss her deeply. She feels him pushing her backward against the seat, shifting his weight on top of her and she can almost remember what anxiety feels like.

“We should stop,” he announces, humming, leaning back, giving her a look. “I’m…sorry,” he waves his hand in the air. “Getting carried away.”

And suddenly she doesn’t feel like she’s suffocating, she remembers what human decency is like and is welcoming the way he’s handling himself. Who would have guessed?

“I…have to be honest,” she sighs as she sits up. “You’re not gonna like the place.”

It’s almost on cue that the cab stops and Laszlo peeks out the window to see _Kryptonite_ , the dueling piano bar that apparently only plays 3 Doors Down Songs.

“Fucking Hell…” he begrudgingly pays the driver as Cece gets out.

“Wait, are you…?”

“What? Don’t think I’m leaving you here unaccompanied.”

“But, didn’t you hear what I-”

“Yes, yes, I heard all that. So, I’ll be out here until you’re done,” he seats himself at a table on their outdoor patio, ignoring the chill in the air.

Cece is flattered and maybe still a little drunk but all she wants to do is be around him. She’s almost infatuated with this man she only met tonight and _holy fuck what is wrong with her_?

She rushes into the bar before she can say another word.

The _noise_ in here is unbearable and with the yelling going on at the other end of the bar, she can imagine that the singers are trying to drown out the noise. She’d never wondered what ‘Here Without You’ would sound like when scream-sung…

It’s sort of humorous: half of the bar is completely unfazed by Beetlejuice’s yelling as they sit there sipping their drinks, and the other half are completely _engrossed_. If she didn’t know any better, he was making a scene on purpose.

“Beetlejuice,” she says it loud enough, she thinks, but clearly not because as she approaches, he doesn’t even turn.

“Oh, you know…I don’t even have to have grudges anymore. I just _think_ a name and I can force them into inexistence.” She can hear in his voice he’s a little sloshed.

“Oh, come on, you lying sack of shit. Prove it,” someone at the bar challenges and Beetlejuice steps forward, eyes dark, hair tinting red at the roots.

“Sure, sure. What’s your name again?” the dark look in his eyes would be intimidating, but Cece is maybe the only one in the bar that knows he’s _powerless_ at the moment.

“Beetlejuice,” she says it again, harsher this time, scolding.

For a split second, his hair tints blue and he looks legitimately frightened and sad.

“Cece? What brings you here?”

She glances around at the beings. “Can we talk?”

“Oh, _now_ you wanna talk?” he slams his drink down with the other glasses around it, leans against the counter. “Fine, let’s talk about that thing you were hiding today.”

She’s taken aback at first but soon regains her footing when she sees what he’s leaning on.

“How did you get your file?” she blurts out the first thing on her mind, clearly the drug not having worn off completely yet. This is _not_ how she counsels, not how she functions. Something feels off. But also, this is not _where_ she counsels and fuck Lillian for making her come here like this.

“No, no, back to _my_ thing. Was that a communication doohickey? Huh? I’m not stupid, Cece. Where’d you get a thing like that?

She feels exposed suddenly with all the eyes on her.

“How did you get your file?” she demands.

“My thing first,” he crosses his arms like a petulant child.

She sighs, glances around at everyone. “Let’s just go back there and talk.”

Beetlejuice smashes a glass pitcher on the ground between them, shards flying everywhere.

“No. I’m done playing these one-sided games with you. I thought you wanted to make _real_ progress. But when you do this, who could trust you? Now you’re just going to push back against me and try to psychoanalyze me at a bar?” He makes a spitting noise.

Beetlejuice’s outburst stuns Cece for a moment. Clearly, he’s had enough alcohol to make him feel something or maybe he’s recently taken something like she had earlier. She felt pretty messed up right after, but less impulsive currently.

Cecelia has the sudden realization that Lillian had mentioned the cops were called. The de-escalation needs to start soon, especially given that Beetlejuice informed the patrons of this bar that she’s his counselor…

“You’re right. I’m sorry-” she starts to say but is interrupted by a patron yelling at Beetlejuice to grow a pair and ‘stop sobbing, pansy’ and ‘what, did mommy not love you?’ Cecelia watches the expression change on Beetlejuice’s face after that last insult, watches the anger melt away to hurt, watches his hair tint purple.

“Aw, what? Did I get that one right, pussy?” the man calls.

Cecelia’s rage grows and she spins on her heels to face the man, the smug look on his face. She takes three steps toward his table, slams both hands down, sloshing his drink out of his glass as she looks down her nose at him.

“How _dare you_ speak to someone like that.”

Beetlejuice feels his shock even through the tipsy haze. It feels like he’s on a boat…maybe he’s more drunk than he thought. This was, what, the third bar he’d been to? Losing count of the drinks was a given and it takes a lot to get ya drunk in the Netherworld.

“You mouthy cunt,” the man spits as he stands, his chair falling to the floor. He towers over Cece and Beetlejuice wants to take a step forward but feels frozen in place.

“Oh, _I’m_ the mouthy one? Please. You jump in on something you have _nothing_ to do with. Mind your own fucking business next time, asshole.”

Normally, Beetlejuice would be on this _so fast_ , using his powers, letting that sweet, sweet rage flow through him. Only now he doesn’t have any power. Now it gives him a migraine if he even tries to drum anything up. Now this guy has a whole freaking _table_ of backup that’s standing there, ready to pounce on Cece.

“Don’t think that because you’re dead nothing can happen to you, newbie” the man threatens.

“I’ve met men like you before. Does it make you feel powerful to insult others? What kind of job did you have in Life? Were you fulfilled? Because trust me, buddy, you’re acting _just_ like some of my clients. Don’t act like you’re above anyone else. We all have our demons, you just need to do some self-reflection and learn to shut your fuckin’ mouth.”

Beetlejuice feels comforted for a moment, is this the first time someone’s stood up for him? He can’t remember another time and he’s moved. It’s probably the alcohol.

“You little bitch,” the guy starts, raising his hand and Beetlejuice is pretty sure Cece’s gonna get slapped. He steps forward as quickly as his body will let him move but it’s apparently not fast enough. It feels like he blinks and there’s a blur and then someone is standing before Cece, gripping this dude’s hand.

Cece watches Laszlo twist the man’s fist behind his back then press him down to the floor.

“Laz!”

“We’ve gotta go,” he urges, moving away from the man. He glances at Beetlejuice who hesitates for a moment then grabs his file and lets Cece’s date lead them out the door.

Unreal.

•••

Cece ends up having to use her powers on one of the guy’s friends who was standing by the door smoking a cigarette. One snap and he was against the wall, choking. They jog a few blocks and then stop.

“What the fuck are you doing with that?!” Cece shouts. She reaches for the file but Beetlejuice pulls it back, almost knocking Cece on the concrete.

Laszlo’s hands shoot out to hold her upright.

“Whoa, mate, you’re burning,” Laszlo comments to Beetlejuice, nodding at his hands.

“I know,” he answers quickly. “Yeah, I know.”

“Please tell me you didn’t break into my office,” Cece says, trying to ignore that Laszlo is now face-to-face with her client, breaking that confidentiality.

Beetlejuice shrugs. “Fine, I won’t.” he watches the counselor visibly fume. “I’m gonna guess I was right in there and you _do_ have some magic communication device.”

Laszlo turns to her as they wait for an answer.

Finally, “Yes. Why do you want it?”

Beetlejuice grumbles, looking away and avoiding her question. “Take me for a drink and I’ll tell ya,” he wriggles his eyebrows at her and Cece can’t tell if he’s flirting or just drunk.

The curiosity has gotten the better of her and her night was cut short by Lillian’s call and demand…

She glances at Laszlo who shrugs at her. “Fine,” she voices. “But you don’t answer my questions, I’m spilling your drink.”

Beetlejuice narrows his eyes but follows them to a cab.

Cece is squished between the two of them in the back and it’s…interesting. The drug still has some effect on her, leaving her chest fluttery. It’s odd that she’s feeling. It wasn’t that long ago that she died, but she misses _feeling_.

She doesn’t pay attention to the bar Laszlo tells the driver to meet at, mostly because Beetlejuice’s hair has tinted slightly pink and she’s super focused on it. She wants to touch it, but that would be incredibly inappropriate.

Well, isn’t getting a drink with a client inappropriate?

Her head is spinning, it feels like she’s out of control…but at least she’s _feeling_.

•••

There’s something going on with this dark-haired guy, Beetlejuice thinks. He’s never seen Cecelia act so careless. Not that he’s complaining…the way she stood up for him at the bar…? Yeah, that was pretty badass.

It’s only when they’re on their way to the next bar that he actually pays attention to her – their proximity. It felt like five minutes ago that he was so turned on by her choice of jeans that he had to go jerk it in the restroom mid-session. It’s like he’s newly-dead again, finding out what few things in The Netherworld actually make you _feel_.

Even his drunken mind realizes that telling her the truth about _why_ he wants the communication device is a bad idea. Hell, sitting beside her with his file tucked under his arm is also a terrible idea.

“Laszlo,” the ruggedly handsome dude beside her extends his hand across the counselor, an introduction. Beetlejuice almost sneers. “I know I’m not supposed to get to know you, per Cece’s instructions. I just couldn’t let you both get your asses beat in there.”

“We would have been fine,” Cece sighs and Beetlejuice is suddenly reminded that she is probably the most powerful one in this cab right now.

“Yeah, we would’ve been fine,” Beetlejuice repeats.

•••

“I’ll just go grab you another drink,” Laszlo announces awkwardly. “What would you like, mate?”

Beetlejuice’s mouth drops. What _is it_ with this guy? Outshining him at every turn, the asshole.

He was thinking a Shirly Temple, but that’s not very impressive.

“Get me a whiskey sour,” he answers then waits for the suck-up to take off before telling Cece, “I want a drinking counseling session like he got.”

“What!?” she doesn’t try to hide her surprise.

“Yeah. Don’t think I didn’t see you when I came in. You’re holdin’ out on me. You do bar sessions.”

“Beetlejuice, that’s not…” she hesitates. “I guess tonight you’re getting that, huh?”

She watches Laszlo waiting for their drinks, notices he’s got something between his fingers that he’s waving around.

_Oh, shit…_

“Guess I don’t need to sneak this back in your office,” he sighs, placing his file on the table.

“Did you take it on a whim or was it planned?”

“I was lookin’ for your communication device, which I know you have.”

“Why do you want it?”

“To mess with some people,” he shrugs and she just gives him a look. “Oh, c’mon, after my powers dried up, I can’t prank like I used to or control like I used to. That would be…a game changer.”

So it’s not completely true, he acknowledges internally. Sure, it would be nice and it _sounds like him_ , but he mostly wants to see if he can bring it to some witch and have her talk him through learning to redial. Maybe she was talking to Lydia. Maybe the original version of his file had names in it. Maybe Cece changed it to protect them. Maybe…

“Cece, may I see you over there for a mo?” Laszlo asks after setting down drinks.

She gulps but follows, glancing behind her to see Beetlejuice watching intensely. Not missing a beat, she keeps walking until they’re both shielded by a wall. He wriggles the tube before her, mentioning that he’d bought extra in case it wore off, which it did with such a sobering experience.

“I don’t know about this, Laz…I’m working.”

He holds up a finger. “But you’re not, not really. You’re at a bar having a drink.”

“But that’s not right.”

Laszlo sighs, “Dear, things are a little different here. Rules apply but they’re new rules.” His words aren’t making her feel any better. “Look, it’s late and it’s not right that you defused that bomb from going off at that bar and now you’re babysitting.”

“I’m sorry we got interrupted, I just can’t leave him like this. He’s-” she almost says ‘ _a friend’_ but stops herself.

“So don’t,” he wiggles the tube in front of her face again.

After a few seconds of contemplation, Cece realizes that she would love to feel that way again. And what were they going to do, fire her for this? She’s not on the clock and it’s just a ‘happened-to-run-into-you’ drink.

She takes the tube, makes sure she’s facing Laszlo to hide anything, and inhales.

“Atta girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the support with this! I am having so much fun writing! Please let me know what you think of it. I cannot wait to share these next few chapters with you. And also (because I'm curious) while reading this, do you automatically picture Brightjuice or Blumjuice? (Or Keatlejuice, even?) Just super curious where your imaginations are going.  
> I hope you're all taking care of yourselves :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: mentions of abuse.

Four thirty-two AM, one of Beetlejuice’s watches reads when Cece leans over to look at it, wobbling a little at the movement, dizzying. He presses a finger to her forehead to push her back, sniggering at her expression. It’s late – er...early? - the main reason they decide to catch a cab.

Next thing she knows, the cab pulls up to her house. A part of her is nervous to see if Beetlejuice is paying attention to where she lives but he sits there, eyes closed, head leaned against the cool window. Laszlo offers to walk her up to her front door, just to make sure she gets there and who is she to say no?

At the door, their lips are pressed together and this almost feels natural, almost feels like Before. His hands are roaming her back and to her hips and it ignites something in her that she hasn’t experienced in The Netherworld before; it almost feels like Life. Before she realizes, she’s clinging to him, running her fingers through his hair, body flush against him. She lets him completely press her to the door, lets him take control, starts realizing that she’s okay with wherever this goes…

Wait, what the Hell? What was she thinking?

“We better not,” she mutters against his mouth.

“Yeah, better not,” he agrees, mumbling as he trails kisses down to her neck. “But, dear God, do I want to…”

She remembers that. She remembers kissing him.

And then she remembers Beetlejuice waking up to open the door and vomit onto the pavement, how the cab driver refuses to let Laszlo or Beetlejuice back in the cab…

•••

Cecelia’s eyes open and she shoots up, bedsheets falling off her body as she glances around the room nervously, like she’s woken up from a bad dream.

“Are you alright?” comes a voice and she realizes this hadn’t been dreamt.

Laszlo sits against the headboard, shirtless, dusting of dark chest hair slightly distracting her, a book in his lap – one of her books – he must have snagged it from the shelf.

The first sentence out of her mouth surprises her, “Is Beetlejuice here?”

Laszlo nods, closing the book. “He is, right downstairs.”

She nods, falls back against the pillow, scoots up against the headboard to match Laszlo’s position. It’s hard to not be overthinking when your brain is trying to piece last night together.

She’s pantless, but not topless.

“Did we…?” she’s afraid to ask. She knows what this would be; she was way too fucked up last night to be able to consent and the thought terrifies her.

“No,” he answers instantly. “I…wanted to, but…not like that.”

“Then why…” she is about to mention her bare legs.

“You were adamant about two things,” he holds up one finger and then the other, “One: Beetlejuice stays and two: you don’t sleep in pants. You’re a little feisty thing.”

Cece laughs, knowing that this is common behavior for her; she tosses and turns often in her sleep and it gets complicated in pants.

“You didn’t actually sleep, did you?” they don’t have to, after all.

“No,” he hums, placing the book on the nightstand. “I’m thirty pages away from the end.” He pauses. “Anyone ever tell you, you moan in your sleep?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_.” He pauses. “As I said: I _really_ wanted somethin’ last night but…everything in its time.”

Was this guy real? It’s unlike anyone she’s ever known romantically. What luck to find someone like this her first time attending a bar in The Netherworld, she thinks.

She rolls onto her side and lets him wrap his arm around her, pulling her into his chest. The comfort is very obvious.

“I’m trying to remember what happened last night.”

“Would you like me to paint you a picture?” he hums. She nods against his chest. “You did some more…shall we call it fairy dust? Beetlejuice called you out on it and wanted some, which of course I agreed with because I’m always up for a good time, and that handsome bloke down there knows how to party.”

“He threw up,” she recalls.

“Yeah. Cost us a cab, which is why we ended up here. Late night and all that, plus I wanted to make sure you were okay. First time and all, never know how you could react. You insisted he stays. He sort of…passed out on your doorstep so we sat with him for an hour until we decided to drag him inside.”

“Jesus…” she raises up on her elbows.

“Yeah. Guy had way too much to drink.”

Her eyes widen even more. “The file. Did we leave the file behind?!”

Laszlo sighs. “No. That thing was such a fucking headache to carry around and make you hold while walking the streets. He and I were burning,” he shows his palms. “You’re pretty strong-willed, refused to listen to us.” Another pause and then, “Must be _powerful_ to be able to hold key files like that…” he’s pressing for information and she dislikes it.

She ignores him. “I actually _slept_ ,” she decides to change the subject.

“Yeah. The drug really has a strong effect. Beetlejuice managed to pull himself on your couch, been out ever since.”

“I should go check on him,”

“He’s dead. What else could happen?” he jokes.

She’s speechless. He’s right.

“Laz, this is…this is crazy. I don’t do this.”

“I can tell.”

“Any of it,” she continues. “I don’t hook up or do drugs or drink and stay out late.”

“Right. Before. But now, nothing wrong with it. You can do a lot more here.”

“Including drink and do drugs with your client,” her voice is monotone.

“Yes, even that,” he jokes.

•••

Beetlejuice wakes to a deep voice and he’s instantly sure that the mob caught up to him and he’s finally going to find out what happens _after_ Afterlife…

Slowly he opens one eye and then the other. He can’t help the reaction he has when he sees a man staring at him.

“He’s up,” the deep voice announces and Beetlejuice flails to get off of the couch and in an upright position.

“Fuck, hey, you look _so_ familiar. Are you…we…”

“Last night. The bar?” silence. “Cece, I think he’s still fucked up.”

“Shit,” Beetlejuice glances around the room, hoping to find his _file_. Last thing he really remembers is getting yelled at by Cece at that karaoke bar. Three Doors Down? Come on…

“You okay?” at her voice, he realizes: he’s never woken up on his counselor’s couch before. Better than in her bed…or worse, he isn’t sure?

“I…what happened?”

“Got a call from Lillian that you were causing a scene at a bar and that I needed to bail you out before it looked bad on us.” Even as she says this, she realizes how awful it sounds and can’t help but let the irritation show through in her speech. “You had a lot to drink last night…”

Beetlejuice swallows and makes a face when he glances down at his hand. He pulls back his jacket sleeve and tilts his head. “And apparently did drugs.”

Cece halts, “How do you know?”

Beetlejuice displays his arm. “I wrote it right here, in…” he hums. “lipstick?” Oh…there _was_ a waitress last night, he’s starting to remember some things.

“Do you remember anything else from last night?” Laszlo questions.

He squints. “You. Kind of…Lopez, right?”

“Laszlo,” he corrects. “Anything else?”

“Cece, you were _pissed_ at me about that file…and you almost beat a guy for talking to me? And we had a drink together…and I ate out some waitress…think this was her lipstick!”

The memories are coming back to Cece slowly. She remembers Beetlejuice stumbling off for a while, that waitress in tow…

There’s a vague memory of straddling Laszlo at the table when Beetlejuice left, kissing him and not caring who was looking. She can remember the _feeling_ – his facial hair, his belly against her and stimulating all the right places as she held herself against him. Though there was a fear that Beetlejuice would come waltzing back and see them and she’s sure it stemmed from the unprofessional nature of the situation.

“Any memory of _why_ you started those bar fights?” Laszlo mentions, curious. Cece glances at him. “It just…cut our night short with her having to deal with Lillian.”

Beetlejuice glances between the two of them, mouth agape.

“Oh. You…-” he motions between the two of them. “Got it! Got it. Yep, yeah, okay.” He’s stumbling backward toward the door. “Well, I’ll see ya…what’s today?”

“Thursday,” Cece speaks cautiously, nervous, embarrassed.

“Right! Today. Counseling…t-today,” his hair is tinted pink. “Bye!”

The door slams.

“That was…odd,” Laszlo hums.

•••

Stupid. What the fuck was Beetlejuice thinking? Didn’t she say that she _hadn’t_ met anyone? Well…

Why does he care?

It’s because she lied. Probably. Because he’s expected to tell the truth in session and she can just blatantly lie. Yeah, that’s it.

Beetlejuice remembers seeing the file on her kitchen counter before he ran out. Well, fuck. What a failed attempt at getting somewhere…

•••

Today has been a weird one. Two clients ditched on Cecelia and she is left with a lot of time alone. Of course, she’s overthinking.

What kind of bullshit was last night? She’d never done anything like that before and realizing that a client saw her like that – _partook_ with her?!

She can feel herself slipping slightly, can feel a sense of anxiety gripping at her from that mistake. This is _not_ like her, Laszlo was wrong to be almost insinuating that he knew her, that she could be a different person here in the Netherworld. It wasn’t his business or his call.

Yet…she had a lot of fun. With Laszlo. And…and Beetlejuice. There are a few memories floating about and she remembers laughing with him; all three of them giggling at some joke at that bar, Beetlejuice trying to impress the waitress with his shitty dart skills and accidentally impaling a customer who was too drunk to notice the dart sticking out of his neck.

When a shadow lingers in her doorway, she feels just as shocked as she did when Beetlejuice caught her listening in on a previous client from the living world. Once again, the lingering body is Beetlejuice and he looks pretty bashful to be here, yet he still showed and that makes Cece feel good.

“Hey,” she invites him in quietly.

“Yo,” he waves with two fingers and slowly steps into the room, shutting the door.

Neither of them speaks as he sets himself in the chair this time, facing her, but staring at his lap.

“Last night-” she starts to say as he clears his throat. “I…”

“Yeah, pretty fucked up. I just…that file,” he nods his head toward it. “Just…thought maybe I could change some of it, that’s all.” He adds, “I wanted to know what you know,” and instantly regrets saying all this. “Just, forget it…”

It’s silent again mostly because Cece is speechless, shocked by his utterances.

“Last night you said-”

“Yeah, well, I lied. There you have it. I should’a known it’d be harder than that to change.” He covers his mouth for a second to stop the words but they still form and he can’t help but say, “Guess we’re both liars.”

“What?”

“You said you didn’t meet anyone and acted all lonely and…I dunno. It’s just bullshit that you can lie to me but I’m here in the hotseat while you play holier-than-thou.” He lets his anger flare up. “I remember last night, you know. It’s starting to come back.”

Cecelia gets up, tosses her pen on the table, rounds the desk. Beetlejuice flinches when she steps toward him and he’s ready to bolt, he can feel it. Only she doesn’t come and smack him for talking like that, she just sits on the couch and sighs. They silently stare at each other for a few beats.

“I didn’t lie, B,” she remembers calling him that last night, remembers he took well to it, seemed to light up. She hopes it’ll bring some peace to this conversation. It does, his hair starts tinting normal, not as red. “I met Laszlo last night, honest,” she explains about the dead guy at the bar. “We decided to leave and go,” she hesitates. “I don’t really remember that first place, a rave?”

This stirs something in Beetlejuice. Wait, she doesn’t remember? “He drugged you?”

She winces. “Well, not exactly. I agreed to try…”

And the memory hits him _so fucking hard_ , “I called you out on that last night!” he remembers now.

“Yes, you did,” she agrees. “And then in the same breath, asked Laz for some too,” she tries to hide her smile but it shows and instantly breaks the tension in the room. They both laugh together.

“Ah, fuck, what a night…”

“Yeah, that waitress?” Cece peers at him.

“Uhh…yeah, so _you and Laz…_ ” he pitches his voice up, bats his eyelashes, hides the irritation.

“Oh, no. No, this is _your_ session. Do tell.”

“You first.”

She hides her face. “God, you’re obnoxious.”

“Yes, thanks, now spill.”

She needs her coffee, something to do with her hands. Beetlejuice watches her reach across the desk, eyes taking in every inch of her. The jeans did something, but this skirt is nice…would be nice to…-

“I don’t really know him,” she shrugs, fingers wrapping around the mug. “He’s nice. So far around him I feel a little out of control, but…”

“Probably the drugs,” Beetlejuice says in the same tone. “But, yeah, he’s…nice…” he trails off, looks away. “Kinda smarmy.”

“Funny coming from you,” she laughs.

“No, I mean…he feels weird, right?”

“What?”

“Like, not natural.”

“B, we’re _dead_.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves her off, makes a face. “But, like…he just makes you feel like it’s too good to be true.”

“He made _you_ feel that way?” her tone says she’s not buying it.

“Yes! There’s something sexy about him,” he shrugs. “Like a pull, you just notice.”

“And this waitress?”

“Eh, nothin’ to tell. I remember going on impulse, you know?”

“And that impulse was…” she’s trying to pull this back to counseling he can see.

“-Eat her pussy,” he shrugs as if it’s the simplest thing. “Hey, _you_ weren’t offerin’ so…” he looks at the ceiling, whistles a tune.

Cecelia takes a moment to gather herself after that. “What did you want to change in the file?”

Well, that’s a mood-killer if he’s ever heard one.

“Anything,” he shrugs. “I’m not sure.”

“Yes, you are. Or you wouldn’t have done it. How’d you get in here anyway?”

Beetlejuice waves it off. “Just wanted to know what you knew, is all.” A pause. “So, that communicator. How’d you come by it?”

She knew this was going to come up. After taking that drug last night, Beetlejuice was pretty jovial, pretty agreeable, and did _not_ want any downers.

“I made a witch friend?” she scrunches up her nose.

“A witch friend,” he repeats dryly. “Yeah, that was a good idea.” and then, “What do you do with it?”

“Some of my clients like to use it to speak to their relatives that aren’t in this section of The Netherworld.”

“But…weren’t you using it alone?”

“Yeah,” she answers a little too quickly. “It’s…weird. I have a second cousin here and…I called…she doesn’t remember me...” she lies easily about that last part.

Beetlejuice had been so hung up on this, he feels deflated now. “Oh.”

“You seem sad.”

He shakes his head. “Nah, just…” he pauses, digs for something. “Family, huh? Fuckin’ dicks sometimes…”

“Oh, yeah…” she sips her coffee and Beetlejuice hears in her voice she’s speaking from experience.

“How much did you know about my…mom?”

Cece raises a brow. “Not too much. Just that Lillian took her position and that, well, you…”

“Yeah,” Beetlejuice fills in that blank, no problem. “Nothing else though?”

“No?” she hesitates. “Is there something I should know?”

He takes a deep breath, shakes his head at first, stands, paces, ends up behind her desk with his back to her. Settling against the edge of the desk, he stretches his legs out so his feet are against the wall.

“I…took the file because I wanted to see what it said about her,” he starts, staring at the wall, unable to turn around to look at her. He knows she’s still listening; she has proven to him that she always does. And he can’t look, not right now, he feels too raw. Seeing her expression might just make it worse. “She’s been in power a long time and…I just figured, yanno, my…story would be erased.”

Cecelia wants to move to comfort him, it’s a gut reaction and she knows how she gets. When a client is always open with her, these moments don’t hit so strongly. But when her client is guarded, these moments have typically proven themselves to be some of the most painful utterances she’s experienced. She’s bracing herself.

“B…” she decides this is all she needs to do; not push, not comfort, just remind him that she’s there, still in the room with him.

“She used to beat me,” he says the sentence so fast; his tongue feels like it’s stumbling over the words, dancing over the period to continue with, “but, I was a shitty kid, yanno? Always bouncing everywhere, hyper, too much. I have the ‘too much’ gene is what she’d say and it was probably pretty deserved, but yeah…it…wasn’t…it wasn’t in there, in the file I mean, and I just…thought,” he sighs shakily. “I thought you should know.” By now his hair is completely purple, his shoulders hunched.

Cece takes a second to gather her thoughts and notes his body language.

“I need you to know that it’s not your fault,” she starts and notices that he doesn’t turn to her. “I know this is so cliché but I don’t care because I think you need to hear it right now. What you said is alarming, you don’t deserve to be hit if you’re a rambunctious child. You don’t deserve to have your story removed from your file here because your mom was some high rank and had the power to remove it.”

The thought of this shoots rage up her spine. She stands and places her coffee down on the desk behind Beetlejuice. Just this simple, quiet sound makes him jump. She wants to place a hand on his shoulder, offer some sort of comfort, but she knows that can backfire.

Instead, she reaches over to grab the file next to him on the desk. She flips open to an early page and starts skimming through.

“What are you doing?”

“When did this start happening, Beetlejuice?”

“Uhh…” he hesitates. “I remember it when I was three, maybe earlier, I..” his eyes don’t leave her. “What are you _doing_?” he repeats.

“We are gonna do a little experiment,” she announces. “No idea if it’ll work or if it’ll burn me but here,” she pulls out a blank piece of paper and a pen then sits down at her desk, the side the clients sit on since Beetlejuice is next to her chair. “What all do you want written, if anything?”

Beetlejuice slowly turns to her, eyes wide. “Do you…have any idea what this could mean for you? Going up against them like this? Re-writing what’s already Been Written?”

“I know The Highest aren’t exactly forgiving but your story deserves to be told – whatever part of it you’re ready to share.”

And he can’t believe it, but he feels almost empowered. Yet…scared, tentative. Is he really about to do this?

It takes him two seconds to almost turn and bolt out the door, three seconds to take in the determined expression on Cece’s face, and another ten minutes to start speaking again. Cece sits with him, gaze bouncing from the desk to his face to his back to the color of his hair to the ceiling and back – waiting for him to start speaking.

And when he does, it’s like rapid-fire.

“It was _anything_ , really, it’d set her off…I’d be doing _nothing_ and she’d just come in and start screaming, yanno? And then the hitting would start. When she drank it was the worst. I couldn’t do anything right as a kid…so I just…stopped doing anything right.”

Cece was about to begin writing, but he keeps spewing – moments about times she up and left without telling him, when he had to fend for himself for a few Netherworld months, how no one questioned it because she was powerful.

“So the running excuse is that she was in power so no one wanted to touch her,” Cece voices.

“Well…” he hums, “Yeah. That and it’s the Netherworld. Child services don’t get called here, toots. Demon kid’s fucked up, oh, it’s because it’s a _demon kid_.”

Cece has a hard time digesting this information, realizes that she needs to adapt to this way of ‘life’ because no one is going to be on her side otherwise.

“I’m sorry, I…I haven’t been writing this down.”

“Oh.” Beetlejuice pauses. “Well, I don’t want it down, yanno? Er…” his words meant something, but Cece could see in his eyes that he felt another way.

She peers up at him. “Listen, ball’s in your court now, B. Whatever you choose to have me do with this information, I will do.”

Beetlejuice thinks about this for a few moments. “I…don’t want all of it down. Well, most of it. Just…generic? Can we do that?”

“We can do whatever we want,” Cece swivels the pen around in her hand before she puts it to paper.

Beetlejuice watches over top of her, so curious about what she will write.

Her pen glides across the paper, _‘Brought to the attention of the counselor: client was abused starting at age three.’_

Cece pulls her hand back quickly, startling Beetlejuice to jump to his feet. The searing pain on her hand surprises her. Feeling seemed to come back when she was fucked up last night, but had since worn off. Glancing at her palm, she sees burnt flesh.

“Fuck,” she lets the word fall from her lips and Beetlejuice is almost too shocked to say anything.

“Just…cut it out, you don’t have to do this,” he can remember what that pain feels like, can remember it from last night, how the drug made him hyper-aware, intensified that burn.

Cecelia keeps writing, ‘ _Mother in question was in power position throughout abuse.’_ The burning continues and she takes a second to rub her palm on her thigh. _‘For client’s therapy to be successful, this page needed to be written, not hidden from the eye of the next reader.’_

The pen falls out of her hand without her control and Beetlejuice feels helpless. Yet, he reads over her shoulder, sees it settling into the page

Due to the intensity of the moment, Beetlejuice waltzes toward the couch, throws himself down upon it, and grabs the pack of cigarettes. He pulls one out, lights it, inhales, holds it in for a minute because – well – he didn’t need to _breathe_ , now, did he?

“Bull-headed,” he guffaws at her, smoke flitting out of his nostrils.

“You’re welcome,” she laughs, holding her palm still.

“Water, it’ll help,” Beetlejuice suggests, taking another drag. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

She’s putting her hand against the cold coffee mug. “I know, but how do you feel now about the whole file thing?”

He considers this.

“Better.”


	10. Chapter 10

“You never reported back to me regarding the bar chaos with your client,” Lillian’s voice is heard as Cece passes the office.

She halts, takes two steps backwards. “It would be great if you could, I don’t know, _not_ yell confidential situations regarding clients out your door. Yanno, just the little things,” Cece retorts.

Lillian clicks her tongue. “Right. Well, time for your report so…that would be nice information to be aware of.”

“And I figured we’d go over it today at our report,” she speaks in monotone and then leaves.

Today their floor is like a ghost town – no one but her and Lillian, a few clients coming in for a session that isn’t taking place and they’d forgotten the change in schedule. Being alone with Lillian makes Cece want to scream – especially in regards to a phone conversation she overheard while she walked from the copy room. A few, ‘yes sir’s and ‘please daddy’ and Cece is _pretty_ sure she knows who was on the other end of that line. Gross.

Long story short, she makes the decision to leave for lunch.

It’s…interesting how the mind works in the Netherworld. She knows that her taste buds are diluted almost, not the same as when she was alive, but the cravings are still there. She’s never really talked to anyone about it to see if it’s maybe just a Recently Deceased thing or if all the other deadies have the same experience.

All she knows is right now she would kill for a fruit salad.

Betty’s Eatery is right across the street and she can’t get there fast enough. She can remember the other coworkers she had in Life, how they’d go to lunch together sometimes or pick things up for each other if they were going out. Yeah, something that was _never going to happen_ with Lillian, she is sure of that.

“Fancy seeing you here,” comes a familiar voice and she spins around in line to see Laszlo taking a plate to the disposal area, tossing out an empty cup.

She picks up her order, thanks the lady, then wanders over to her…friend…- er, what would she call it?

“What are you doing here?”

“Grabbin’ lunch. I, uh, have a meeting,” he thumbs toward the exit. “Listen, I’m glad I caught you. I’ve been thinking. Why don’t you and I take a fun little trip to Morticia’s tonight?”

“ _Tonight_?” she repeats. And Morticia’s…? Why does that sound so familiar? “I dunno…”

“What, have plans?” he teases, tucks a stray hair behind her ear. “Come on, don’t you miss the fun?”

Cece pulls back, grabs a plastic fork to distract herself. She feels lightheaded.

“What’s Morticia’s?” even as she says it, it sounds familiar.

Laszlo pauses, hums. “Think of it as a spa. Somewhere to recharge.”

A spa sounded _so nice_ right now. But…a spa in the Netherworld? From her experience some of these places have been rather…creepy. Twisted in some way.

As Laszlo approaches, she feels her apprehension leave her.

“I guess we can go,” she finds herself saying.

“Great!” he nods. “Well, I’m off so I don’t miss this meeting,” he hands her a business card. “Call tonight, I’ll get a cab when you’re free.”

She eats her lunch alone, staring at the business card in front of her, the indent of the dark ink spelling out: **_Laszlo Berry. Freelance Flâneur._**

•••

“We _can’t_ keep runnin’ into each other like this,” Beetlejuice’s voice calls from behind her.

She glances over her shoulder, stops on the stairs. “Wow, you’re a regular. Don’t tell me you forgot when our next appointment is…again.”

“Nah, got called for some update meeting or some shit?”

“And you’re hoping it’s about your powers,” she finishes for him. They climb the stairs together.

“Yep!”

She smirks at this and then hesitates before saying, “Can I…ask you to remind me something?”

“Go on, shoot.”

“Morticia’s?” she speaks it and his expression changes. “…I remember you mentioning it…what is it?”

“Why…?” he stops in the stairwell.

“Well, I…Laszlo wants to go tonight.”

His expression darkens. “He _what_? And you agreed?”

Cece sighs, “It felt like I was in a fog, I couldn’t remember what you’d said it was…but I thought you’d said it’s-”

“-Dangerous is what it is,” he finishes. Why the Hell would she agree to that? He’d alluded to it being a bad place when they talked the other week, one of his tangents about places in the Netherworld. Granted, he hadn’t said _why_ but… “What, he just said this would be some fun _date_ idea?” he spits.

“Yeah. He said it’s a type of spa or something.”

“Or something…” he repeats with a scoff.

“I was apprehensive at first, but he convinced me to go.”

“Was it that hard convincing you?”

She looks confused. “I…it was like something snapped in me, I…don’t know.”

Beetlejuice gets a bad feeling. “Not my business, but you seem to not remember a bunch with this guy.”

Cece’s eyes scan over him and he feels slightly nervous, slightly turned on at the inspection.

“You’re right.”

Wait, what? She isn’t gonna put up a fight!?

“Look, uh, I gotta go to that meeting er…whatever…but if your door’s open after, I mean…” he scratches the back of his head.

“You’ll tell me what’s going on?” she says all too eager, realizing that something felt off and any insight might be good.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

•••

Something’s up. Has to be. Too weird that she can’t remember things around this guy. He kinda hopes this meeting bullshit is over quick because he’s so damn curious about this whole thing. Nothing else going on in his Afterlife, he really has no choice other than diving into other people’s drama. And who, exactly, is he interacting with? Jacques, sometimes, sure. Snoozefest. Ginger? Kinda. She’s pretty fun to fuck with. And, uh, the ladies at Dante’s Inferno Room are not too keen on him at the moment after he fought that bartender…

So, hanging with his counselor it was. How fucked.

Wait. Hold up…was that…?

Speak of the devil, what the fuck?

Beetlejuice hides behind an ugly fake tree, peeks over the leaves to see who’s just left the office.

“And you, my dear, have a _wonderful_ day,” he’d know that dumb accent anywhere. But what is Laszlo doing here? Leaving Cyrus Thompson’s office, no less. Flirting with his receptionist… Things just keep proving fishy.

•••

“I’m…curious how you got this information from him,” Lillian drones, sticking her pen in her mouth after Cece updates her on the progress with her cases, leaving out a _lot_ of information.

“Jeez, Lil, I don’t know…maybe I’m a decent counselor and he felt comfortable telling me this information because I’ve been a reliable, stable person in his Afterlife?”

Lillian rolls her eyes. “With Beetlejuice, it’s…always a ploy. There’s always some reason he’s doing things – scheming.” She hums and Cece just blinks at her. “You do know the file you have is copied to the other files, correct?”

Of course Cece knows that, it’s partially why she did it. The files communicate with one another, like a hivemind almost. If someone is keeping tabs on them, reading and re-reading stories…well, then she’s certainly made a statement.

“I’m not too worried,” she waves it off. “Now let’s move on to finishing up on Mr. Upton’s case. He’s just about done with his hours and we need to sign off on his paperwork for his next hearing with The Highest.”

She hates saying it that way, but it’s what they’re referred to. Being fairly new to the Netherworld still, she’s picking up the lingo here and there, learning about the way ‘society’ works, but there’s a lot that she doesn’t know. Hell, there’s a lot that _many_ don’t know – your average Netherworldian not ‘needing’ to know the ins and outs; being more powerful than the others she’s often in the ‘need-to-know’ group. Of course, they always give her _just enough_ information, never a complete understanding of things because that would overstep their boundaries of power, now wouldn’t it?

“I’d like to return to Beetlejuice when we’re done with the paperwork, if you’d be so kind,” Lillian hums, marking something down on her notepad.

Cecelia stares, eyes half-lidded, looking completely annoyed and not even trying to hide it.

“We’ll see, but I’m leaning more toward _hard pass_.”

•••

Unreal. Un-be-fucking- _lievable_!

They can’t do that! Well, clearly, _they can_ and _they are_ but – fuck!

Beetlejuice storms out of the office, not slamming the door because he’s managed to break the hinges in his outburst but…he’d slam it if he could.

Cyrus Thompson, Overseer of All, Mr. High-and-Mighty himself remains sitting at his desk, bent cigarette still hanging from his lips after Beetlejuice shoved it down his pants and stuck it back in his mouth.

He’s seeing red and he knows his hair is tinted the same, a scowl on his face, fangs feeling sharp in his mouth. Just as he assumes that Cyrus is _weaksauce_ for letting him leave like that, he feels a sharp pain coursing through his thigh and falls to the polished tile floor, groaning.

“Don’t think you were getting out of here without a consequence after _that_ stunt, Juice,” he can hear Cyrus ranting over him, but his ears are ringing some high pitched frequency and he’s _so consumed with pain_ after not feeling it for so long, he can barely focus.

The nerves in his legs feel like they’re on _fire_ and this just boils him to the core, snarling and drooling and trying to stand to go after him.

“You bastard.”

“Cocky fuck,” Cyrus spits. “But I’ll bet this is nothing compared to what Mommy did, huh?” he whispers this close to his ear, bent down over his body. Beetlejuice barely glances at Cyrus before noticing claws sprouting from his hands, like fucking Wolverine. He starts squirming but soon a metal claw plummets into the back of his hand, puncturing all the way through and sticking into the ground. Beetlejuice cries out. “The decision is final and if you don’t stop manipulating people, you’re not going to be given the opportunity for counseling. This is a _gift_ , Juice. A precious gift, a – what is it, _fifth_ – chance for you. Stop blowing it.”

The metal is gone before he can blink, the withdraw aching _just as badly,_ if not more so. Scrambling to his feet, he pushes the pain away in his thigh and backs himself up against a wall, watching with wide eyes as Cyrus saunters back into his office, unable to close the door because of the broken hinges.

He’s left a blood mark on the floor and the wall and now he’s _running_ , actually sprinting down the hallway, around the corner, passed the waiting area, and straight to Cece’s office. Safety. He needs safety and she has _powers_ and if he stops bleeding soon he’s going to start _thinking_ and that’s worse.

Cyrus doesn’t follow him, but he’s still glancing over his shoulder before he raps on Cece’s door with _the wrong hand_ and – _ow!_

“Beej?” he hears her, enters the room without being invited, closes the door, doesn’t care if anyone’s in there. There’s no one and he sighs out of habit. “You’re bleeding,” she gasps, coming over to him. “Why are you _bleeding_?” her hands are on him in an instant and he’d be pissed about his answer if he weren’t so _fucking scared_.

“Cyrus,” he manages, knowing that she’ll know the Overseer of All.

“I’m guessing you didn’t get your powers back,” she speaks quickly. “Did he _stab you_?”

“Yes,” Beetlejuice hisses when she presses a tissue to his palm, blood leaking out the back of his hand and on the floor. “Fuck.” He’s holding the back of his hand, sweating and sneering. “He knows about the file.”

Cece stares at him, processing. “So he punishes _you_ for me writing in your file?”

Beetlejuice grits his teeth, sits down in a chair, almost pulls her down with him as she’s pressing the tissue to his palm to stop the bleeding.

“Thinks I manipulated you into adding it,” he groans, head leaning back. “So he’s making me do some kinda service hours in the near-future.”

“That’s bullshit,” the response comes from her so quickly and he can see the rage on her face. Her hand leaves him and he feels the tissue stick to the drying blood.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“To talk.”

“No. No, no, no, no. Heyyyy,” he drags out the last word, sitting up straight. “Cool it. You’re just gonna make things worse for you.”

“He needs to know that it was my idea.”

“No, nope, he doesn’t,” the blood starts pooling again. “Little help here?” he’s hoping to distract her so she doesn’t make things worse.

“Oh! Sorry,” she rushes back over, grabs another tissue, and presses her fingers into his wound. “What the Hell did this?”

Beetlejuice raises a brow at her. She really doesn’t know these people, does she? “He…has claws. Like, spikes from his hands. Think: Wolverine.”

Eyes widened; she looks at him. “I-I didn’t know that,” she lowers herself to a crouching position next to the chair and Beetlejuice watches her sink down, mind drifting for the moment. How pretty would she look on her knees?

“Yeah, so now I’m stuck doing fuckin’ service hours of some sort on top of this fuckin’ counseling,” he grits his teeth at the pressure she puts on him then adds, “No offense.”

“None taken,” she waves it off. “Okay. Well, we’ll figure this out. B, I’m sorry I let this happen to you.”

He’s instantly uncomfortable, gut reaction telling him to run, but the intensity of her stare makes him sit still.

“Don’t sweat it,” he manages.

Only she isn’t convinced. Cece can’t help but feel guilty for putting him through this. She’d worried she retraumatized him by telling his story, but he seemed content to finally admit it to someone.

“Gonna hurt like Hell but you need to clean it,” she nods toward his hand.

Beetlejuice grunts. “Don’t remind me.” He notices the pack of cigarettes sitting on the table next to the other ‘comforting’ trinkets she’s placed there. “Mind lighting one for me?” he nods toward the pack.

Fingers still trying to stop the bleeding, she pulls a cigarette out of the pack with her free hand, turns to face him, then puts it in his mouth. He smirks around it while she grabs the lighter, flicking it and lighting.

“Thanks,” he mutters from around it. She realizes that he’s gonna need help actually smoking it too so she shifts positions to be able to reach up and pull it from his lips after he inhales.

Beetlejuice almost thinks she’s gonna take a drag, but she doesn’t, instead taps the ashes off in the ashtray on the coffee table. How nice to be served, he thinks. They sit like this until the cigarette is done, silent, both of them thinking; Cece about the file and Beetlejuice about sex.

“Do you need help cleaning it?” she voices finally, realizing that the blood stopped.

“Yeah, well, about that…” he stalls.

She realizes, “You weren’t planning on it.”

“Look, it’s _real_ hard for us to get bogged down by infections here in the Netherworld so…” he laughs. “Figured it’s not worth it.”

“Tough,” she stands, holds his fingers. “Let’s go.” She’s pulling him to his feet and she’s so much _smaller_ than him, it’s kinda comical that she thinks she can overpower him. Before Beetlejuice can laugh, she _does_ overpower him, reminding him that – oh, yeah – she _has powers_. On the way out the door, he manages to snag the cigarettes and lighter.

She drags him down the hallway toward the bathroom he used to wank that one time. Slamming the door open, she demands to the dude washing his hands to _leave_. The force she’s taking, the power over the situation, Beetlejuice feels himself getting a little worked up.

“Hey, toots, easy there,” he mutters as she’s pulling his hand under the spigot, dousing the wound in water. Her hands are _soft_ and they work fast to clean off the blood

His left hand is snaking another cigarette out of the pack, popping it in his mouth, then lighting the damn thing so he has something to distract himself from the way all this is going. Mind drifting to jerking it in here before, Beetlejuice feels a halfie creep up on him.

Cece is finished, grabbing a paper towel and dabbing off around the wound.

“I probably have something to wrap this in my office,” she washes the blood off her hands, dries them.

“Don’t sweat it.”

She stares at him. “Back to my office,” she demands. “Now. We have a lot to talk about.”

He puts out the cigarette on the counter, leaves it there before shoving his hands in his pockets to hide the growing bulge in his pants, following the counselor out into the hall.

•••

Apparently, the page has been ripped out, according to Cece and all the files will reflect this change. Beetlejuice doesn’t care to see it, doesn’t _care_ particularly because _someone_ read it, _someone_ saw it and notified Cyrus to look at his copy as well. That and _Cece_ knows. So, he’s good. For now. There’s a slight tickle in his mind, reminding him that he would love revenge, but his mother is gone so isn’t that revenge enough?

His hand feels better after she washed it for him, feels better after she wrapped this silky purple scarf around it. He’s pretty damn content, minus the knowledge that he’ll be hearing about some _service hours_ within the next 10-15 business days. Gotta love it.

“Okay,” he voices. “Enough talk about this, I’m bored.” He sits forward, cracks his back. “You need to cancel with Laszlo _right fucking now_.”

She’d almost forgotten, she realizes that the drama with Cyrus took her mind off of this Morticia’s place.

“You’re actually going to tell me the whole story this time?”

“So you don’t go there?” _with him_ , he almost says. “You’re damn right. Buckle up, buttercup.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just you wait, things will be heating up a bit next chapter ;)


	11. Chapter 11

Cece feels like she’s sitting around a campfire, letting Beetlejuice tell her ghost stories. The way he preps for the story: settles into the chair, runs a hand down his face, exhales…she thinks this must be serious. She’s never seen him like this. She waits patiently.

“It’s dangerous, you shouldn’t go,” he deadpans, standing up to leave as if done with the conversation after all that lead-up.

“You ass!” she laughs, leaning forward to grab his coat sleeve. “What is Morticia’s?”

Beetlejuice smirks at the attention, shrugs. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell ya.” A look of amusement shows on her face so he sits back down. “Morticia’s is…sort of a spa, almost, so he’s not lying about that. Only…it’s not what you think.” Cece blinks at him. “That’s the thing! They advertise and make ya think it’s all warm and fuzzy towels that are too short to cover anything…sounds sexy, right?” he wriggles his eyebrows at her. “Actually, no, you _should_ go…with _me_.”

“Beej…” she can’t help but laugh at his antics, pretty grateful that things have calmed down since the issue with Cyrus.

He’s suddenly so struck with a thought…he’d _kill_ for some ganja right about now…take his mind off things.

“Alright, so…uh…” he runs a hand down his face again, trying to focus. “How much do you know about _sleep_ here?” He shivers at her newness, ignores the pang of arousal in his gut.

Cece is taken aback. “I mean…I don’t know much about… _much_ …” Beetlejuice almost purrs at this, knowing that he would _love_ to teach her a thing or two, but this isn’t what she means and he knows it. His mind wanders… “I know we don’t need it, but I like to…pretend I’m on a schedule like I used to be, I guess.”

He likes that she just offers up this little piece of information. _Loves_ that he has a nice visual of her in some purple negligee, getting ready for bed. He can only imagine…

“Eh,” Beetlejuice shrugs. “You kinda are on a schedule, yanno? Job an’ all…” she nods at him. “That’s all that you know about sleep here, kid?” she shrugs after sending him a glare for calling her that. “Alright. Well…it’s like this: as time goes on here – and time is different here, you’ve noticed – you start to get _real tired_. And I’m sure you can tell that any typical night you sleep, ya feel nothin’ – just goin’ through the motions, am I right?” He’s fighting the urge to loosen his tie, take out a cigarette, distract himself from thinking about what she wears to bed. “Well, these spas promise one thing: a ‘deathlike sleep.’ It’s advertised all over, you haven’t seen it?”

“Wait, so how do they induce that?”

“It’s like a…wires and…” he stumbles over the words. “It’s a simulation,” he explains quickly. “Pretty sure they offer more than just a stiff sleep there, if ya know what I mean,” he nudges the air. “Point is: it’s weird. Too weird. And…a, uh, a friend of mine disappeared and the last place she went was that fuckin’ wormhole.”

Cece is startled by this. “And you think they did something to her?”

Beetlejuice shrugs. “I mean, the times I’ve gone to ask questions I’ve been escorted out by some asshole. It’s possible.”

“Do people…move in the Netherworld?”

“You’re moving now,” he snarks.

She rolls her eyes. “No, like, move houses.”

“I mean, I guess, yeah…”

“And there’s no chance that she just up and left?” Cece questions.

Beetlejuice’s annoyance is prevalent as he gnaws on his cuticle. Hadn’t he thought of that? Abandonment issues, amiright?

“Nah, nope. She lived with her sister – both died in a car crash – they were close. I don’t think she’d leave her behind.”

He remembers how fucked up her disappearance made him. He’d gone _crazy_ looking into it like some shitty detective, working with her sister, sneaking his way into Morticia’s a time or two (only to get caught.) Dropped it months before the whole Maitland’s thing, actually.

Cecelia shakes her head, trying to take in the information. “I don’t get it, do people know it’s shady?”

With a sigh, Beetlejuice shifts so his boots rest on the coffee table. “Eh, maybe. Some people. But most of the dumb consumers don’t take a look at what wacky shit they’re getting into – crappy Yelp reviews and all.”

Cece nods, almost putting the pieces together. Beetlejuice can see the gears turning. As a newly dead, he’s sure this makes next-to-no sense to her, but she’s trying and he’ll give her that.

“I’m…confused. Beej, what do you think happened to your friend?”

Stretching forward, he grabs another cigarette from the pack, lights it, brings the ash tray to rest on his belly. An inhale, then he taps the ashes off and lets it rest between his fingers for a second. Cece gives him time, can tell that this must be important to him. Just when she thinks he’s going to speak he takes another drag.

“Heard some of the girls talkin’ at Dante’s Inferno Room a while back. Some pretty crazy shit and it was all about that spa,” he puffs on the cigarette, speaking on the next exhale, the smoke billowing out of his nostrils. “Rumor has it girls go missin’ from there all the time. Talk of sex trafficking.”

Cece sighs, looking at the floor. A part of her had hoped that the afterlife would be a better version of life; that there’d be no wars, no racism, no sexism, no hate…no rape, no sex trafficking. Maybe it was naïve. Apparently.

“So your friend…-”

“You might wanna call and cancel that outing,” he suggests. They just stare at each other few a few seconds, Beetlejuice’s expression neutral, unfazed while Cece’s stare is intense – frightened.

“This is insane…” she mutters.

Without much thought, Cece pulls out Laszlo’s card, slaps it down on her desk. Beetlejuice raises a brow at that next exhale. “Fancy,” he chortles.

Beetlejuice watches her make the call and he wonders why she’s suddenly okay with personal things around him. Trust may be growing, he realizes, and it’s a welcome change. He feels a little smug about it.

Cece notices that she can’t seem to think straight when around Laszlo so she’s fine with calling in front of Beetlejuice, wonders if him watching her will be helpful.

No answer so she leaves a voicemail telling him that she’s heard some alarming things about the spa and that she isn’t interested in going anymore. Mentioned, ‘read some crappy Yelp reviews’ just to see if Beetlejuice is listening – which, of course he is – the smirk tells her so.

After she hangs up, she is suddenly overwhelmed with anger. In life, she always followed things by the book, always did what she was supposed to and look where that got her. The Netherworld has bad people in it, clearly the Afterlife not being what she expected. Between Beetlejuice being abused by his mother and them covering it up, to him getting stabbed by a person in power today, to knowledge about this _spa_ cover for sex trafficking _?_

Normally, she wouldn’t do this. Normally she’d respect her job enough, but she’s slowly learning what the Netherworld can turn people into – even those with the best of intentions.

“Are you free later tonight?” the sentence leaves her before she realizes how this sounds.

Beetlejuice slowly turns to look at her, unsure if this is some sick joke.

“What? You taking me up on my offer? Craving towels that _barely_ cover anything? Cause, uh, that can be arranged, babes. Just say the word.”

Cece can’t help but laugh. “No. Dante’s. Care to introduce me to your friends?”

Beetlejuice’s jaw hits the floor and then he has to pull himself together and not drop the ashtray from off his belly. He puts out the cigarette.

“You want me to take you to a strip club?”

“Don’t question it or I’ll change my mind,” she deadpans.

His eyes are wide. “Done. Okay. Yeah.” His mind is already working miles ahead – watching her get a lap dance, have some drinks, maybe convince her to get on _his_ lap…

“Do you think they’ll talk to me about Morticia’s?”

Oh. So this is for-…oh. Okay.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, imagines his erotic thought-bubble disappearing. “Maybe, I dunno. It’s a longshot but if you’re _that_ curious…”

“I am.”

•••

She can’t very well go to a strip club wearing her work slacks. Plus, they’re uncomfortable and this dress is not.

She decides they’ll meet there, Cece drawing a clear line in the sand by demanding this, and Beetlejuice is _so tempted_ to try and cross tonight. Especially when she shows up wearing _that_ _fucking dress_.

It’s black – his favorite – some rhinestones on it, sure, yeah, but it’s practically _see through_. Well, not really. It’s sheer, and he’s staring. But in the streetlight, he can see the vague outline of something on her thigh and he’s so damn curious to know if it’s a tattoo. Fuck, if it’s a tattoo…

He’s salivating. He’s actively fucking salivating on the sidewalk when she gets out of the cab. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he shoves his hands in his pockets – yanno – just in case she’s checking…

“This is the oddest thing I’ve ever done with a client,” is the first thing she says to him.

Beetlejuice is smug about that, a grin tugging his lips upward. “Oh, yeah? I’m sure I can think of some ideas to top this.”

It feels odd walking in with Beetlejuice this time around. With Laszlo she was woozy from the drug and when she looks back on it, she’s almost embarrassed. Pausing in the doorway, she almost doesn’t go through with this, almost feels the dizzying like she had last time.

Beetlejuice’s hand is at the small of her back and she notices, but doesn’t push him off.

“What’s up, doc?” he jokes.

“M’fine. Just…overthinking.”

Beetlejuice hums at her. “Well, cut that out. Focus. We’ve got a mission, right?” he’s teasing her but she doesn’t pick up on it. She’d been so adamant about this get-together being for the case of some mission she’d set her mind on, it was a little frustrating to Beetlejuice. He knew she wanted answers, but damn. Admittedly, he’d like to be used for _whatever_ as long as he was having a good time. “Let’s get you a drink.”

They settle down at the bar, Beetlejuice’s right elbow propping on the bar top and giving the bartender a cheeky grin, his left hand still not having left the small of Cece’s back. She doesn’t push him off because she thinks she’s on the verge of throwing up, thinking about Laszlo, thinking about how she felt last time she was in this place. His hand is a comfort to her and she feels as if she’ll fall apart if he takes it off.

Beetlejuice notices her leaning into him and he’s not going to stop her. She’s gotta make that move, he decides it isn’t his job.

“Hey, Kim,” he bats his eyes at the pretty bartender. “Got a second?”

Kim glances his way as she fills a mug from the tap. “Oh, _Christ_ , you’re back?” there’s annoyance in her tone, but Cece picks up on a bit of humor, affection. “Lemme guess, ya wanna drink for free tonight?”

Adjusting his hand under his chin to frame his face, he gives a sweet smile. “If you’d be so kind,” the accent he puts on almost makes Cece laugh.

Kim glances around after she passes the beer she poured to another customer.

“What do I get?” she leans forward, meeting his gaze.

“My pleasant company,” he suggests.

Cece almost pulls out her purse to offer to pay, but Beetlejuice presses his fingers into her back and she stills, breathless.

“Is that right?” Kim tuts, pauses, stands at full height again, then grabs a glass. “This lovely lady can’t be here with you.”

“Ah, yeah, my old lady,” he wriggles his eyebrows and Kim looks shocked. “Nah, nah. She’s my counselor.”

“Okay, hold up: what?” she slams the glass back down. “Replay this for me. _You_ are seeing a counselor?”

“Hi,” Cece laughs, deciding she’s done pretending to not be _right here_. “He is.”

Kim raises a brow. “Holy shit, I’ll be damned. ‘Bout time you’re gettin’ help, Juice,” she chuckles. “What’re ya havin’, sweetheart? Anything for someone who’s actually taking the time to work with this dickwad.”

Cece enjoys Kim, she decides. It’s nice to meet someone like her in the Netherworld, it’s not common.

“Can you mix me a Dark ’n Stormy?” she asks,

“Rum kinda gal? Right on,” she wanders off to get their drinks, apparently knowing what Beetlejuice’s order would be.

Now that the moment passed, she feels more focused. Pressing a hand to Beetlejuice’s bicep, she tells him, “I’m good now. Thanks. I needed that.”

Cece feels him slip his hand from her back, watches him place his palm on his knee and turn to look around; casual.

“Me and Kim go ‘round a lot when I’m here. Gal mixes a _mean_ Tequila Sunrise.”

Cece notes his taste in alcohol and almost laughs, remembering the last time they were out…were they making this a habit?

“Do you think she’ll know anything about Morticia’s?” she tries to focus on the mission.

A shrug, “Likely. She is a bartender, which is basically your job just with a different license.”

“True,” Cece agrees.

Beetlejuice stares across the room at the dancers, watches some lucky bastard enjoying Tyree…

“All I ask is you don’t break anything this time,” Kim’s voice brings him out of the lusty haze. “And only a few drinks tonight, yeah? None of the shit you pulled last time, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Beetlejuice salutes at her.

“There you are, sweetheart,” Kim coos as she places the drink down for Cece. She smiles back at her, looking bashful and sort of _into it_ …now this is a show that Beetlejuice would _absolutely_ watch – Hell yeah!

“I have a crazy question for you,” Cece starts.

_Ohhh, ask her if she’ll eat you out. Go on, Cece. You can do it. Do ol’ Beej a kindness…_

“Have you ever been to Morticia’s?”

_Fuck._

Kim stares at her, blinking for a second. “You better watch what you’re asking around here, darlin’,” she shakes her head, leans in closer, and Beetlejuice holds his breath in anticipation. Only they don’t kiss, like he’s picturing. Damn. “Morticia’s is not a place for sweet things like yourself.”

Cece is slightly offended, thinking that she can handle herself pretty nicely – especially with these powers.

“Why’s that?”

Beetlejuice sees the edge to Cece and it’s not helping his current situation.

Kim’s eyes stare back and forth between hers, as if searching for _something_. Then she pulls back. “I’ve never been. But I’ve heard stories here and there. Not many, but that’s expected now isn’t it?” the cryptic way she’s talking makes Cece think that Beetlejuice’s assumption is right. “I know some of the girls know a thing or two. Maybe start with Raleigh,” she nods toward the horned woman in a pink g-string. “Sorry I can’t be more helpful but, well, you’ll get why.”

With that, Kim walks away to go help the other customer across the bar.

When Cece’s eyes land on Beetlejuice’s, he’s sipping his drink through the tiny black straw, feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“ _What_?” he hiccups.

“Let’s _go_ ,” she grabs her drink and stands, making her way over to the chairs close to the stage.

‘ _Oh, so help me…_ ,’ Beetlejuice thinks.

•••

“Is this your girl?”

Cece should have been aware that all these ladies would know Beetlejuice, would ask questions.

“What?! No, no.” he wants to keep his options open. This was exactly what he was worried about happening. “She’s my counselor.”

“Same thing,” Raleigh wraps her legs around the pole. “You bring your counselor to a strip club?”

“Immersion Therapy,” Cece waves it off, a joke that falls flat. “Listen, we have some questions about Morticia’s if you could help us out.”

_Jeez, Cece, just getting right to it then._

“Never been,” she shakes her head. “But Evie over there has. You might be better hitting her up.”

•••

“Yeah, I been there,” Evie shakes her hips to the beat of the music. “You gonna pay for a dance?”

Beetlejuice swallows hard, staring at her body, completely distracted until the mention of _dance_ and then he’s like a hungry dog looking at Cece. Of course he didn’t bring anything for payment or barter.

“After you give us a little information, sure,” Cece shrugs and Beetlejuice practically salivates on the floor. _Again_. Evie is still listening. “What happened when you went to Morticia’s?”

“It was really weird, yanno? They put you in this pod that’s hooked up to a bunch of wires and it helps you deep sleep or whatever,” she pauses to shift her body into another position. “I started with only one person outside the pod. Like five minutes in, the thing goes black. I shift and squirm to get out and when I finally did there were like six people in the room. All men. All shouting at me as I got out.”

“What were they shouting?”

“I don’t remember. They were talking to each other about the boss and how he’s already aware they failed. I got out of the room as fast as I could.”

“And that was it?” Cece asks.

Beetlejuice wonders if he’s supposed to be coming up with follow-up questions too, but he’s _so damn distracted_. Look at her… God, he wants a dance.

“And then they followed me for five days,” she responds.

“What!?”

“Yeah. I got Eli to step in and the dude left me alone,” Evie points behind her as if everyone knew who Eli was. Apparently, he’s the bouncer. “But I will never go back there. So, how about that dance?”

Cece pulls out some cash, hands it to her.

“I’m good, you guys enjoy.”

Beetlejuice is shocked and beaming and _oh fuck praise the deities._ But he knows he’ll just be worked up after this…

•••

“You sure you’re not together?” the bartender, Kim, smiles at Cecelia as she sits down on the far end of the bar. She shakes her head, glancing to acknowledge Beetlejuice who is enjoying himself. “Shame. This is the best behaved I’ve seen him here.”

Cece smiles, not surprised. “Glad he can be taught,” she jokes.

There’s a silence for a few beats as Kim mixes her another Dark ‘n Stormy since she’d finished after their talk with Evie.

“About time someone looked into that place,” Kim mutters to her as she slams the drink down, her voice almost inaudible over the music.

“Why do you say that?”

Kim ignores the question. “I’ve got a few employees who used to work there,” Cece didn’t realize that Kim _owned_ the strip joint. “Them,” she follows the direction Kim points and sees a dancer talking to a bouncer. “They might be helpful. Kiki maybe not, but Eli…Eli will talk.”

“Thank you,” Cece acknowledges, clinking glasses with Kim when she pours herself a shot of rum.

•••

“While this is nice and all,” Evie hums in Beetlejuice’s ear. “Your dance needs to end, Juice. Next customer coming in – I _have_ to be on time.”

“Ah, big spender, huh?” Beetlejuice chuckles, eyes glazed as he stares at her body.

Evie smirks, “Yeah. A regular. And he _doesn’t_ like to wait so if you’ll excuse me.” She boops him on the nose and struts over toward the bar, leaning against it to stare at the entrance.

Beetlejuice lets his head hang over the back of the chair, taking a second to calm down before he waltzes over to Cece. He doesn’t need that kind of awkwardness right now, it’s bad enough he’s at a strip joint with his counselor…and she’s wearing _that dress_.

“Oh, looks like your friend’s dance is done,” Kim comments to Cece, motioning toward the stage. “Well, it _is_ about that time…”

“What do you mean?”

She smirks, “Evie has a hot date this time every day.”

“Every _day_?” Cece laughs. “Wow, I mean I guess it can be pretty dull in the Afterlife, but…that’s a little much.”

“Agreed. She makes some good money from him so we aren’t complaining.” Cece glances over at Beetlejuice again, he’s sitting there staring at the bar. “Might wanna give him a few minutes. He’s usually pretty rowdy after a lap dance.”

Cece feels the need to blush, though it won’t show up on her cheeks what with the whole dead thing.

“What a strange night,” she laughs, sipping her drink.

“Ah, right on time as usual,” Kim’s voice breaks through Cece’s thoughts and makes her follow the gaze toward the door.

Cece feels lightheaded. “Shit,” she cusses, spinning on the barstool so she faces away from the door. It’s Laszlo and he wraps his arms around the girl who was giving Beetlejuice a lap dance only a few minutes before, Evie, right?

Eight steps and Beetlejuice is right there, not breaking gaze from Laszlo at the opposite end of the bar, but placing himself in Cece’s personal space.

“Uhhh you’re _fucked_ ,” his voice whispers out, pure gravel. “Don’t look now.”

“I _know_ ,” she hisses.

“Heyyyy, any free rooms right now, Kim?” Beetlejuice asks her.

“For you? No,” the owner laughs.

“Fuck,” Beetlejuice huffs, watching Laszlo. “Okay. New plan. Stand slowly, follow me.” Cece does as he says and Beetlejuice walks backwards toward where the bar top cuts out to an L shape – complete opposite end as Laszlo. “Now _hide_ ,” he points under the bar.

Cece glares. “No!”

“ _Now_ , I’d recommend…” he speaks through clenched teeth.

When did her Afterlife get to this? Cece practically growls at her annoyance when she ducks under the lip of the bar top, sits her ass on the metal rail where people usually put their feet. She’s sulking. If Laszlo sees her with Beetlejuice…

“Hey, friend!” she hears Laszlo’s voice approaching.

She pulls her legs closer to her chest, staring straight ahead as Beetlejuice’s striped pants draw nearer to the bar, his crotch in her face, trying to block her from Laszlo’s sight. _What a strange night_ …

“Oh, hey!” Beetlejuice’s voice is tense, but she hears him settle when he says, “fancy seeing you here.”

“Nightly ritual, you know how it is.”

“ _Nightly_?” Beetlejuice speaks, surprised. “Jeez, must be rollin’ in it, bro.” He’s teasing him, she can tell by the tone.

“Oh, yes,” Laszlo laughs.

Beetlejuice can’t help but smirk at him. “Nothin’ else to keep you occupied every night?”

He’s _hard_ over this and he’s sure Cece _sees_. Between the lap dance and the intensity of the moment…not to mention the _power_ that Laszlo clearly possesses and yet Beetlejuice is there tonight with his girl – the one who ditched Mr. Big Shot to play detective with some lowlife like Beetlejuice. She’s on the floor below him and Laszlo doesn’t have a fucking clue. It feels like a win. He counts it as a win.

“What makes you say that?” Laszlo’s voice loses its cheery tone.

“Ah, nothin’, just wonderin’ why a guy like you needs to pay someone to spend time with him.” _Oh, he’s enjoying this_ …

Laszlo’s shoes come into Cece’s view and she’s sort of grateful for the interference. She’d noticed Beetlejuice’s _problem_ and looked at the floorboards to distract herself. Urges were rising in her and she’s quickly realizing that sexual things make her _feel_ something. Still learning the ways of the Netherworld is interesting to say the least, but she should not be feeling turned on by her client.

“Sir, are you coming?” his dancer, Evie, steps over in her pretty red shoes.

Beetlejuice watches Laszlo nod, loop an arm around the girl. “You see Cecelia, tell her she missed out. I could have given her a good time tonight.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” he smirks then watches Laszlo go to one of the private rooms with Evie.

With him gone, he feels Cece’s hand press against his thigh and his dick jolts at the touch. She’s pushing him back but he’s holding his ground as she pulls herself out from under the bar, twists so she can see where Laszlo sauntered off to. The movement is probably accidental, but Beetlejuice feels her ass bump against his hard on as she straightens into a standing position. He’s fighting the urge to pull her flush against him and rut into her.

“That was…interesting,” she sighs, feeling him pull his hips back an inch. The touch had been accidental and she ignores the wetness between her thighs. Still, she spins to face him simply to see his expression. Beetlejuice is wide-eyed, pupils blown, lips parted slightly. She sees the need in him and would be lying if she said it didn’t turn her on.

She blames it on this place, blames it on the rum, the company, anything but the burning desire she’s feeling being this close to him.

“Why’d you come here with me tonight?” Beetlejuice voices his curiosity. “Did you know he’d be here?”

“No,” she assures him. “After everything today, knowing that I may be able to get information on what’s going on, I couldn’t pass that up. And I need you since you have contacts here.”

He keeps repeating part of that sentence, _I need you. I need you._ There’s a tingling sensation in the base of his cock and he bites the inside of his cheek as he feels precum leaking out, a chill running down his spine. Overstimulation plus not pounding one out in a day makes him _easily_ worked up. Especially when the focus of his fascination is off-limits.

“Right, yeah,” he speaks a little more tersely than he’d intended. “So, what’d ya get outta that?”

“I have to go talk to that bouncer,” she hands him her drink to hold onto as she meanders over to the guy.

Beetlejuice sits down with her drink, sneaks a sip of it, makes a face then hums to himself, taking another hefty gulp.

“You’ve got it _bad_ , my friend,” Kim’s voice comes from behind him.

She’s leaned over the counter slightly, looking like the Cheshire Cat.

“Ah, shut it.”

•••

Cecelia suddenly wishes she had her drink, at least she’d have something to distract her while she waits for this bouncer to end his conversation with a dancer.

“Miss, is there anything I can do for you?” when the acknowledgement finally comes, it’s a little more flirtatious than she’d like, but she needs answers.

“Yeah, I…” she motions behind her. “I was just chatting with Kim who told me to speak with you,” the dancer shyly moves away from the conversation, but still close enough to listen in, Cece notices. “It’s about Morticia’s.”

The bouncer’s expression falls. “Why are you askin’?” he’s serious now. He doesn’t let her answer before he tells her. “You really shouldn’t be asking about that place.”

“So, it’s true it’s dangerous?”

The man huffs. “Look, you coming around here asking these questions, someone is going to hear, someone is going to find out.”

“And then what?”

“You don’t want to mess with these people. It’s best if you just stay away.”

Cece thinks about this. “You seem to know a lot.”

The bouncer rolls his eyes, sighs. “I…used to work there, okay? Kim hired me because I needed to get out. And I’m _out_. Played stupid before I left. I didn’t know the whole operation, but,” he steps closer to Cece, whispering now. “All I know is there were tunnels underground, locked rooms that they _forbid us_ to go in, and a few of the guys that worked there told me that trucks would come for pickups after hours. _Pickups._ We weren’t _producing_ anything that needed delivery to other places. But…there were rumors.”

“Human trafficking,” Cece whispers.

The bouncer presses his lips together. “As I said: stay away. These people are powerful. They’re dangerous. They know how to cover things up.”

“But they let you get out.”

“Not before cutting off my leg,” he raises his pant leg to reveal a prosthetic limb. “It’s true, we’re dead, but they can make Afterlife pretty painful.”

Cece notes a presence behind her and when she turns, she almost screams. Beetlejuice is in her personal space again, leaned forward at the hips slightly then coming to her left side, almost looking like he’s puffing himself up, glancing over his shoulder.

“You gotta go, kid,” his voice is hushed.

Cece gazes over his shoulder to see Laszlo is out of the room, talking to another girl, hair a little ruffled, shirt unbuttoned at the top. She ducks a little, hidden behind Beetlejuice’s size compared to hers.

When she glances back, the bouncer is gone and she’s cussing under her breath.

“Beej,” she groans to which he grips her wrist, twisting her around and marching her toward the door.

“Too fuckin’ bad. Out,” he snarks.

Cece is two steps away from the door when Beetlejuice hears his voice. He hisses, shoving her with his shoulder and making it look sort of casual as he spins on his heels to face Laszlo.

“Leaving so soon? Come, I’ll buy you a dance!” the ever-eager asshole suggests. Tempting. Very tempting.

“Gotcha, just heading out for a smoke,” he thumbs behind him. Laszlo nods, waving him off.

Beetlejuice books it out of there, a breath away from Cece.

“Great idea, bring him out here!” Cece’s trying to hail a cab.

“Smoke?” he holds out his fingers, hoping she’ll juice something up for him. With a sigh and an eyeroll, she complies. “Thank ya kindly.”

“So, you were probably right. About your friend. About that place.”

Beetlejuice nods slowly. “Yeah…probably,” he takes a drag. “Your good buddy in there has to be into some shit himself.”

Cece pauses. “How do you figure?”

“Well, for one he pays _cash_. Not bartering, not I-owe-you. Cash. And he’s here _daily_ , Cec. Daily.”

Cece hums, hearing the new nickname. “What are you suggesting?”

Should he say it? “Guy’s a fuckin’ creep, that’s what I’m suggesting…”

The fire behind Cece’s eyes is so entertaining to him. She wants to argue, he can see it, yet he knows that she’s starting to believe it.

The cab pulls up. “Are you coming?”

He smirks, coughs out a laugh that shoots smoke in her face.

“Nah, figure I’ll stay.” Now he’s just trying to get under her skin.

The angry look makes him bite his tongue so he doesn’t kiss her then. Fuck, that _fire_ …

“Gotcha.” she opens the cab door, slides herself in the seat.

As she sits, Beetlejuice’s eyes trace down to the hem of her dress which has now ridden up her thigh slightly. He inhales sharply. Yep. Tattoo. He was right…

“Chat soon,” he closes the door for her and waves frantically, making a scene of it like he’s in some old-timey romance movie.

Now, time for another lap dance…

He puts out the cigarette and practically floats back into Dante’s. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to post sooner but work has been so stressful lately and life got busy - I suck and I'm sorry, but I hope you enjoyed!


	12. Chapter 12

For the life – er – death of her, Cecelia can’t figure out why the window’s open when she wakes up. She can’t remember opening it before bed, but she must have. The breeze would probably be cold if she could feel it. Slamming the window shut, she imagines starting her routine like someone in a romantic comedy. Only things aren’t funny here.

In Life, she can remember starting a morning routine to keep on schedule before she saw clients. She’d start with some coffee, get herself ready, scroll through whatever social media while she had breakfast, sometimes she’d have a half hour for a walk or yoga or something productive.

In Death, she barely keeps a schedule anymore – especially lately. Time is a strange entity in the Netherworld. With the lack of actual sleep, you feel like you lay there for days – think of your worst night’s sleep where you wake up every few hours and stare at the clock. The knowledge that time is dragging on yet you aren’t rested is aggravating, she can remember it. But in Death it’s like that all the time – even when you’re working or meandering around the Netherworld.

Today feels a lot like a bad dream to her.

She’s stiff and sore; she can _feel_ these things and it worries her a little. Not normal. Can dead people get _sick_ here?

With a laundry list of questions, she wants to ask someone and get answers but she knows the only person she really has here that’s…sort of…a ‘friend’ is Beetlejuice. The inappropriateness of last night hangs heavily with her when the sun is out. He’s her client, not her friend. If their paths had crossed without her being his counselor, would they even be friends?

She doesn’t know, because apparently, she has a really shitty judgement of good people here in the Netherworld and apparently most everyone is shady.

It would be wildly inappropriate to seek out Beetlejuice and try to get answers about last night, right?

Probably.

It’s quickly dawning on her that she truly could use a friend here. A real friend. One she doesn’t have to feel guilty about seeing after they’ve left. Especially one that doesn’t try to trick her into going to some shady spa like Laszlo did. His intentions were clearly malicious, right? Yet…there’s something alluring about being around him, Beetlejuice hit the nail on the head with that one…and she sort of misses him.

What did Beetlejuice learn last night by staying after she left?

She tries to busy herself on her day off, tries to distract her mind with stupid things like reading or lounging in her backyard, considers wandering around but doesn’t want to get lost on these winding streets.

Slamming her book down, she decides to dig through her work bag, grab those crystals, and focus her power on Beetlejuice.

This is probably a bad idea: she has no idea what she’ll see, but she doesn’t really have any other way of contacting him so she gives it a shot.

It takes longer to get the energy flowing this time and she feels a sharp tingle down her spine, but soon the crystals glow and an image appears: Beetlejuice digging through his fridge and pulling out a chocolate cake.

She hesitates about making her presence known, but gets the courage.

“Beetlejuice?”

He startles, head whipping around frantically to see where the intruder is. Only…

“Cec?” his gravelly voice rings out. “What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry to startle you.”

He leans back against the counter, crosses his arms, looks smug. “Nah, ya didn’t. Some power ya got there with this ‘throw your voice’ bullshit.”

“It’s those crystals,” she acknowledges.

Something clicks for him. “So you can, like, _see me_?” a devilish smirk appears on his face.

Cece tries not to laugh. “I didn’t have another way to contact you so…”

Beetlejuice strips from his jacket, making a show of himself in those suspenders.

“What, we go to one strip joint and you’re fallin’ over yourself to get me on the horn? Jeez, woman, how long’s it been?” he wriggles his eyebrows.

Cece was right. Wildly inappropriate.

Yet…comical, almost.

“Look, I was just trying to get some information-”

“-about last night,” he finishes for her. “I figured you’d find me. No counseling today so guess you’re outta luck.”

“I have you now,” she rebuttals.

“Do you now?”

She hates to admit it, but she loves their banter, loves feeding into him, enjoys seeing where he’ll take things. And that’s a problem. That’s a _real_ problem because she’s craving being around him, wants so badly to ask him to meet her at some pub so they can talk in person. Yet she remembers those impulses she had under that bar last night and maybe it’s best they’re not in close proximity.

It dawns on her that she could really use some other friends in the Netherworld…

“Honestly, did you get any other information from him last night? Should I be worried?”

Beetlejuice runs a hand down his stubble, pulls his leg up to rest on his knee, leans back in the chair, makes a real show of it.

“No,” he replies flatly. “I didn’t get anything from him. Not. A. Peep. But yes! You should be worried. He’s not gonna let this go.”

“Wonderful.”

“Actually, think he left you a voicemail last night. Ya might wanna check it,” as he speaks this, she watches him grab his phone, pull out a slip of paper from his coat pocket, and dial.

“What are you-” before she can finish, her phone is ringing.

“Took it upon myself to steal your number, dearest. Hope ya don’t mind,” he says into the phone when she answers. “Now ya don’t have to creep on me with the crystals unless, yanno, ya want a show.” She’s listening on the line and watching him through the crystal, hearing the delay. “I walk around naked most days, just uh…fair warning. Figured it might make session hard on ya, yanno, wanting to pounce on me for the hour.”

“I’m hanging up,” she manages.

“Ta-ta.”

Cece moves the crystal, closing the call, then hanging up the phone. Despite her sense of right and wrong, she saves Beetlejuice’s number before checking her voicemail.

Netherworld-issued cell service. Gotta love it…

“Hey, Cece, Laszlo here,” the voicemail has him speaking over the music in the club. “Really wish we could make things work between us. I think there’s a lot of…tension here and you’ve got Newly Dead questions and I have seasoned answers. Call me back.”

Deleting the message, she shakes her head. Pass. She will not be going to Laszlo for answers. Something about him feels off when she isn’t near him and she can’t tell why.

Deciding to lounge on the couch for a bit, she tries to rest. Something about today is draining.

•••

Ginger.

Ginger is going to be his saving grace; Beetlejuice can feel it.

His neighbor – weird and obnoxious as she is – has some attractive friends. And after getting his dick rock hard last night he needs somethin’…

“No, Beetlejuice.”

“Aw, c’mon, just one date!?” he isn’t above getting on his hands and knees. He needs this. “I promise I won’t fuck with ya for a month.”

This stops her. “A month?” she repeats. He nods. “No pranks?” a shake of his head.

“Scout’s honor.”

Ginger considers this. “Well…I…guess I have someone in mind…”

Beetlejuice presses his hands to her face, “Oh, you precious thing! Thank you!”

“I’ll give her your number and she can give _you_ a call if she’s interested. Don’t go pressuring her or nothin’.”

“Yeah, yeah, got it!” Beetlejuice is already bounding back to his house to wait for his date.

•••

Her name is Portia and she’s…well… _boring_.

Beetlejuice doesn’t normally _date_ , but he’s quickly realizing that the loneliness he feels is insufferable.

Walking into the bar together made him feel like a million bucks – he felt almost powerful again. Portia’s pretty – way too pretty to be on his arm tonight, but he’s basking in the moment while it lasts. Even if she’s kinda lame.

It’s not that he’s _bored_ with his date, no, it’s just…she seems distracted, eyes focused behind him as they drink at a table. It makes him feel small, that powerful feeling slowly fading like a deflating balloon.

“What, uh…what’re you…?” he finally gets the courage to glance behind him and notices a familiar face.

Laszlo sits on a barstool, staring straight toward them. When he sees Beetlejuice, he waves at him, nodding before turning his attention to something else. What is he doing, _following_ him?

“Ugh, you _know_ him?” his date groans.

“Yeah, he…” Beetlejuice doesn’t know how to explain it so he fibs a little. “He’s dating a friend of mine.” Are they considered friends?

She slams her drink on the table. “You’re kidding.”

“Nooo…?” Beetlejuice’s head tilts inquisitively.

“Look, I’m not gonna tell you what to tell your friend, but…”

“But you’re going to tell me what to tell my friend,” he chuckles.

“Yeah. He’s kind of a pig.”

Hadn’t Beetlejuice _known_ that? Hell, this chick’s in for something else if she doesn’t think _he’s_ a pig himself.

“Oh, we know,” he decides to say.

“So, you know she’s probably enthralled.”

Beetlejuice almost spits out his drink. “Wait, _what_?”

“He does that, it’s how he gets all his dates.”

Beetlejuice could smack himself in the face. How could he be so stupid? He knew something was off with Laszlo, could feel that something wasn’t right but chalked it up to just learning about Cece and not knowing her personal business.

“You’re gonna have to tell me more.”

Suddenly this date doesn’t seem so boring.

•••

Cece sighs, sitting up on the couch with a groan. It’s almost like a head cold and she hasn’t been this tired _ever_ in her Afterlife.

Flipping through The Handbook proves useless. The wording is like stereo instructions and with the dizzying feeling she’s got reading is not helpful whatsoever.

A warm bath might be nice.

•••

Maybe he’s partially jealous. If only he had these abilities, he wouldn’t be begging his neighbor for her friends to date. Though enthralling was considered some of the lowest scum in the Netherworld. Every other sack of garbage has to actually try to be _alluring_ to get a date here, while beings like Laszlo blink a few times and enthrall their victims with an easy move.

“Did he kiss her on the hand?” Portia snarks. Beetlejuice just stares dumbly. Did he? “That was his trick with me. Sucked me right in with that move. Yanno, I could remember _not_ being attracted to him before he pulled that stunt.”

Makes sense. He’s heard that being enthralled is like you’re drugged; you come in and out of it depending on how much time you’re spending with them. Beetlejuice’s mind wanders to the phone call Cece made with him in the room. From a distance she was able to say no to him, in his presence she made shitty agreements like his offer to go to that spa.

Puzzle pieces. Why hadn’t he _seen_ it before?

“Ya gotta be fuckin’ with me,” he grunts, finishing off his drink. “What made you break it off?”

“I met his wives.”

Beetlejuice just blinks. Nods. “Oh,” keeps nodding. Holy _Hell_ that’s the life, isn’t it? Wives!? Plural!? Sheesh…the _variety_ alone is enough to get a guy _hard_.

“He took me to his place. She been there yet?” there’s so much that she’s asking that he doesn’t know and he’s starting to feel like he knows the answer to his previous question: no, Cece and him _aren’t_ friends. Can’t be. He’d know more if they were…

“M’not sure,” he huffs.

Portia eyes him up for a second. “Considering you’re friends there’s a lot about her relationship that she leaves out…you sure this girl doesn’t have a thing for you?” Maybe she’s just being cute, maybe it’s her way of flirting – like when a guy throws some line out about a boyfriend, fishing to see if you’re single.

“Uh, yeah, no. No. She don’t got a thing for me,” he shuts that down real quick.

Judging by the look on her face, Portia isn’t buying it. “Right. Well, if she hasn’t been to his place yet, good luck finding it. It’s proofed.”

How the _Hell_ does Laszlo have access to home proofing? How is that _allowed_? The Netherworld loves to have all eyes on the entire population, yet Laszlo is given essentially a cloaking device for his home? Something isn’t adding up. There’s more to this. Has to be.

Beetlejuice shakes his head, grips the seams of his jacket and fans himself slightly, glancing back at the bar where Laszlo is occupied with a beauty queen.

“S’it hot in here?”

He must be powerful if he has that device, must be way stronger than he let on. Hence the nightly strip club visits, clearly rolling in the dough. No regular fuck in the Netherworld has cash like that, the wealth is given to the powerful; surprise, surprise.

Beetlejuice is eager when Portia suggests taking the conversation elsewhere – away from the ears of Laszlo who clearly isn’t interested anyway. But he feels better about leaving. Not to mention she’s taking him back to her place…

•••

Cece doesn’t often think about it but when she died, she noticed a new fixture in her home: a clock. Old clocks were removed before she even woke up dead, replaced with Netherworld clocks. Time is different here. Time makes _no sense_ here. Especially when you can’t feel the tub temperature turn cold until it’s gone freezing.

Sensations still remain – slight – but they’re there, similar to taste. Cece has gone through this spiel with her many Recently Deceased clients and that’s how she’s gotten the hang of _some_ of these things. Only sickness isn’t covered so she’s kind of in the dark about her current predicament.

Wrapping in a towel, she hears pounding downstairs. Six fist-pounds. Hair dripping, she pads down the stairs to peek through the etched glass of her front door. The black and white striped outline through the textured glass is recognizable. Her instinct is worry – clearly something must be wrong if Beetlejuice is showing up here. Now.

Without much thought, she opens the door, presses the towel tighter against herself.

Beetlejuice looks shaken; hair ruffled and messier than usual, tie loosened around his neck, lips swollen. He looks…kinda pleased though and if Cece didn’t know any better she’d say he’d just visited Dante’s.

“Oh! _Heyy_ ,” a sleezy smile slowly appears on his face as he takes her in.

“Uh…wait here!” she slams the door in his face, runs up the stairs to get dressed.

Beetlejuice decides to let himself in, figures she won’t mind too much. He won’t _pry_ and follow her, watch her dress through the keyhole of her door…

Instead, he flops down on the couch he’d crashed on that night at the bar.

His time with Portia was…unexpected, though enjoyable. Got _lotsa_ information and she, too, was pretty eager to…shall he say: have some company.

When Cece returns, she’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt and it’s so, _not_ as attractive as her in a towel. He shouldn’t be worked up after he just got his rocks off, but he is. Even seeing her in shorts. He loosens his tie even more, leans back on the couch.

“Sorry, I…didn’t know what to expect…” she hesitates, feeling awkward. “Is everything okay?”

Beetlejuice cracks his neck, scrunches up his nose, “You’re not gonna believe it.”

“Give it a try,” she sighs.

“Okay, well!” he hesitates, tilts his head. It’s almost as if she’s lost that spunk. “Hey, what’s goin’ on with you?”

Cece waves him off. “Think I came down with something…” she sits on the couch now. “Go on.”

Another long pause after that, him merely blinking at her. That would have to wait, he decides, because he needs to tell her about Laszlo.

“Okay, well, you were enthralled.”

Cece closes her eyes. “I don’t understand.”

Beetlejuice dramatically sighs, slapping his hands on his thighs with a _smack_. “Come on, now! Laszlo! How you were so wooed by him!?”

“You’re not making any sense,” she tries to dismiss him and he recognizes that she’s about to kick him out, but he pulls at her wrist, begs her with his eyes. No, no, no he will _not_ be alone again – not right now. He’s craved attention all this time and now he’s going to suck everyone dry as long as he can.

“Enthralling? You…know…? No? Okay. Like…ah…seducing using powers. Think: vampire.” She doesn’t say anything. “Listen,” he starts speaking rapidly. “I went out with this girl. Laszlo was there. She knew him, said that he enthralls people to get what he wants. I think he enthralled _you_ – and maybe me for that night, but – that’s why you couldn’t say no to him.”

Cecelia digests this for a few beats. When the weight of it fully sinks in, she grips the arm of the couch. This isn’t some movie, she realizes, this is real. There are real beings with real powers. Real powers that are altering her way of thinking and behaving. She feels out of control, remembers the feeling she had whenever they were out together.

“How long does it last?”

Beetlejuice wipes his hand down his chin. “Depends. I dunno how powerful he is. No freggin’ clue. But I do know that you turned that fucker down when ya weren’t around him.” She remembers asking Beetlejuice about Morticia’s right after Laszlo invited her – clearly, she was right-minded enough to recognize the concern. “So, I’d put my money on his power being in-person.”

“That’s why he wants to keep me around him; why he keeps calling.”

“Now you’re gettin’ it, kid.” Beetlejuice scratches his belly. “Hey, got any booze?”

It’s like whiplash talking to him sometimes. Cece nods, pointing to her liquor cabinet without much energy at all. Learning this is even more draining. How could she let this happen?

Beetlejuice doesn’t hesitate when he sees the pumpkin liquor.

“What else did your date say?” she tries to keep herself neutral, realizes she craves that attention, wants someone to spend time with. Isn’t that what got her into this whole mess?

Beetlejuice sips his drink, looking anywhere but at her. His date said a lot and then…didn’t utter much of anything other than moans…

His hair tints pink and Cece notices. She’s picking up on it slightly, she thinks. Something to do with his emotions; embarrassment maybe?

“Guess he moves his work around to different sectors of the Netherworld, always traveling. Has some house that’s cloaked, lotsa wives…” another sip.

“Cloaked?” she questions. “ _Wives_!?”

“Yeah, yeah. Details. He’s clearly tied to money somehow, tied to power. No one just up and gets those cloaking devices – not to mention him being a heavy spender at Dante’s Inferno Room…” he drifts off. “Point is! You got out! Alive. Well…” he smirks. “Now all ya gotta do is avoid him until he moves on to his next victim.”

Cece holds her head in her hands, shakes. “No. This can’t be right. I can’t just let him walk away like that.”

“Uhhh…only ya _can_ and ya _will_. Dude’s powerful. Knows people,” he pulls his legs up on her couch. He puts on an accent, “Ya better watch where yer steppin’ lil lady.”

Cece groans, throwing her head back against the couch and giving him the side-eye. He’s beaming at her. And it’s precious. She knocks his shoulder, almost spilling his drink.

“You really think I should let up and just have him slink away into some other poor sap’s Afterlife?”

“Hm. Let’s think about this,” he outstretches both arms. “Walk away quietly with no injury or get snatched into his haram of misery and deceit,” he shifts his hands like the options are weighing him down, then sighs. “Ahh, your call toots.” Every fiber of her wants to fight this, but she’s just so damn tired. Closing her eyes for a moment, she almost starts drifting. Beetlejuice’s voice startles her and she realizes she’s leaning on his shoulder. “You alright, doc?”

Sitting up quickly, she shakes her head, is thankful she can’t blush. “God, I’m sorry. I’m not feeling myself.” Beetlejuice wants to make an inappropriate remark, but leaves it since he can tell something’s off about her. “You should go so I don’t get you sick.”

“Right, yeah, sure.” He’s only agreeing to it because he’ll be sporting a halfie any second from being so close to her, letting her be vulnerable, her mouth being so close to his.

He could have just shoved her back on the couch, she’d probably wrap those legs around him and he’d be able to grind his hips against hers; tease himself. Oh, he’d make her feel _real_ good.

Awkward and flustered and _all worked up_ , Beetlejuice sets down his drink, shoves his hands in his pockets, and shows himself out of her house.

The slow walk home makes him question why he didn’t tell her: Netherworldians can’t get sick.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's almost Halloween and I was too excited to get another chapter out to y'all! Thank you for all the lovely comments and kudos. I'm still so surprised this has more than, like, 20 readers. I hope you have a healthy, safe Halloween.

A few days pass in a blur. Cece’s taken some time off, but is tired of lounging around and trying to feel better so she forces herself in on this dreary Netherworld day, feeling like a raincloud is hanging right above her as the day ticks by.

Lillian is on her heels instantly and if Cece didn’t know any better she’d assume she was trying to spy, dig for information on why she was _really_ out those days. It only takes two prying questions before Cece snaps at her and forces her out of her office.

The three clients she’s had this morning have been exhausting to say the least and she’s looking forward to a lunch break so she can maybe close her eyes for an hour.

“I’d really like to see how an off week goes for you,” she tells her final client before lunch. “You’ve been making a lot of progress and before we step ya down, I want to make sure you can use the skills we’ve worked on in here.”

“Sounds great, Ms. Douglas. Thank you!” the ghoul shakes her hand as he does to end every session. Strange, but kind of old fashioned and sweet.

She can see the judgement from Beetlejuice as soon as she notices him in the waiting room. When they meet eyes, he jumps up and practically lunges toward her office.

Sighing, she shakes her head. “I have _lunch_ , Beetlejuice. You know this.”

He ignores her. “You ain’t lookin’ so good, princess. What’s up?”

Sitting herself at the couch, she watches Beetlejuice pace the room before plopping himself down at her desk. Unprofessional, she’s realizing she’s slowly becoming…she tries to close the door with her powers but it barely budges.

Beetlejuice watches with narrowed eyes, filing that away for future use. What gives? Were they backing off on her powers? Had they learned that she made the file-altering decision by herself with no motivation from him?

Strange.

“I’m…worn out. I dunno.”

“Right. The…sickness, yeah?” he’s trying to give her a look that she can _read_. And she must because she doesn’t answer. “Sweetness, ya _do_ know that sicknesses don’t just _happen_ here, right?” he stands to make his way to the couch, pushes his hand against her head. She stills. “Yep. Fever. Hm.”

And then it clicks in his head. And he’s seeing red, his hair tinting. Why’s he getting involved? Because he has nothing else to do.

“What?” she can see the gears turning in his head, can see the anger rising on his face.

He exits without saying anything.

Sixteen bars, two strip clubs, and a chatty bartender; it takes hours, but he’s dug into Laszlo’s whereabouts.

The Apothecary – a ‘hookah bar’ near East End.

It’s not hard to spot him through the large window, the neon purple light behind him. Beetlejuice refuses to go in, where his buddies probably are. Instead, he wants to draw him out. He’s been waiting all day anyway, what’s another twenty minutes, he figures.

One of his cronies notices Beetlejuice just standing there, staring at them through the window. After a quick nudge and a glance, the well-dressed man is wandering toward the door. Ducking down the alleyway Beetlejuice figures is his best move so Laszlo’s friends don’t watch this.

“Beetlejuice, what a pleasant surprise…again,” comes the loud voice behind him.

He turns slowly. “I’ll make this quick. Ya seem pretty distracted in there,” he watches the way Laszlo sways as he stands there, notices him lean against the brick building. Who knows what kind of drug he took in there; Beetlejuice had heard they had everything.

“Won’t you join me?” he asks.

“This ain’t a social call,” Beetlejuice grunts. “Stay away from Cece.”

An eye roll. “Is that what this is about? You _fancy_ her.”

Beetlejuice bites his tongue. No. This is about his powers – his _counseling_ – his hope to not have to find another counselor. Right, yeah. “I don’t know how you’re doing it, but clearly you have some kind of power over her still. Stop.”

Laszlo’s eyebrows raise. “Sorry, chap, I’ve got nothing over her anymore. Figured me out, have you? The enthralling is _done_. As am I. Bitch didn’t even put out. Now if you’ll excuse me,” he pushes off the wall, tries to walk away.

“You don’t know who you’re messing with. She has power somehow, you’re gonna be in _deep_ with some higher-up, guaranteed.” Given her high rank as decently Recently Deceased? Yeah.

“You think this is new information to me?” Laszlo laughs. “Wait, you don’t know. That’s rich. You think I _happened_ to bump into her at that bar? That this wasn’t pre-planned. She may be powerful, but she’s not the only one.”

Beetlejuice scoffs. “You’re saying enthralling is powerful? Please.”

“I’m not speaking about myself. You haven’t the slightest clue the type of power there is. Stick around her long enough, you will. You’ll get caught in the crosshairs.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Beetlejuice is irate at this point, but he knows he doesn’t have power and he can’t do much of anything. Caught in the crosshairs between who?

Laszlo places a hand on his shoulder. “As I said: I’ve no power over her anymore. She wouldn’t answer my calls, wouldn’t spend time with me. By you coming all the way out here to threaten me, clearly something’s _wrong_ with her, am I right?”

Beetlejuice’s voice is soft, defeated that Laszlo’s onto him that easy. “She thinks she’s sick.”

Another eyebrow raise from the man. “ _Sick_?” his expression changes in an instant, something fearful looming over him.

“What is it? A curse is my best guess,” her powers are draining, but he won’t tell Laszlo that.

Laszlo shakes his head. “Best run, Juice, or risk getting caught in the crosshairs.”

Beetlejuice follows him back toward the door, yelling obscenities at him, questioning him, begging for answers. And then Laszlo’s friends are chest-to-chest with him, threatening him if he doesn’t leave. It’s worth the fight just because now _he might be in danger_ , but one fist to the mouth and Beetlejuice decides he needs to leave before these drug-crazed jerks really do some damage.

Mind racing, he travels back home. His neighbor, Ginger, has a pretty good grasp on these things; it’s one of her hobbies so he meanders over to her place to see if she has any ideas.

Of course, he gets an earful because he hadn’t called her friend after that hookup. As soon as he mentions Cece’s situation, however, she’s all-in; gives him a book and everything. Leave it to Ginger to be thrilled someone takes an interest in her hobby. Book in his hand, he flips through as he walks to Cece’s house.

She isn’t home, why would she be? So he simply sits on her front steps, reading some more pages on the craziness of the Netherworld: curses, amulets, powerful spells…

•••

Cece is actually surprised to see Beetlejuice when she makes it home, even more surprised that he’s got a bruise forming on his jaw. Today felt like four days shoved together.

“You making this a habit?” she asks as she shoves passed his body to unlock her door. He follows behind her, letting himself in. “Welcome…” she speaks sarcastically, sighs, rolls her eyes. “What’s on your mind, Beetlejuice?” she wanders into the kitchen to toss down her bag, grab a glass of wine or something to take the edge off…

•••

“A Seether,” Beetlejuice speaks, voice monotone, leaning casually against the doorframe to her kitchen.

“A what?”

“Seether,” he speaks it again but it doesn’t help her understand. “I ran into Laszlo and…”

She doesn’t buy it. Of course she doesn’t. “ _Ran into_ Laszlo. Right.” Hand on her hip, eyes glaring; she’s trying to make herself look badass but all it does is give Beetlejuice some ideas about being dominated.

“You were wondering where your powers are going, well…there you have it.” She remains silent as she mixes them both a drink, needing something stronger than wine.

“So why’d you track him down?”

“I figured he was doing this, maybe had something to do with being enthralled. I dunno. At least I _did something_!” he’s screaming. “Sorry. Got ahead of myself there. I…” he holds up a hand, swallows. “Seethers are old beings, almost deities, but they’ve been locked away for millennia. Takes some pretty strong juice to open _that_ box.” He says ‘thank you’ almost like it punctuates the sentence when she hands him the drink.

“This is just a cold, Beetlejuice.”

“I told ya: we don’t _get sick_. Something makes us feel that way. Like a curse or…or…”

“A Seether?” she says it like it’s a joke.

“Look, I talked to Laszlo and he wasn’t impressed, said he can’t have a hold on you since you’re ghosting him - heh. Says it’s something else, or some _one_ else. Powerful. And…he looked scared, Cece. Like, _actually scared_.”

Cece stills, lets the weight of this sink in. “So how do we know that’s what it is?”

“S’my _assumption_ , toots. Power’s draining, dizzy spells, lookin’ like ya went five rounds with a brick wall…pretty damn sure I’m right.”

She chooses to ignore his insult. “What do I do?”

“Well, for starters ya gotta take your clothes off,” he nods toward her while lifting his drink, a smug smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. She glares. “Alright, alright, but ya owe me, kid.”

“Right. Owe you. Got it.”

He rolls his eyes mid-gulp of his drink. “Anyway, I dunno. Never worked with one.” At this, Cecelia shoots him a look.

“Then what do you know?”

Beetlejuice hoists himself up on the countertop, sets the book down beside him. “These things hunt at night mostly from what I’ve heard. The summoner…” he shakes his head, trying to remember details from what he’d read. “There’s an object, like a necklace or some shit…I can’t remember – a _ring_? Dunno. The point is it’s somethin’ that the summoner uses to keep the Seether in their control.”

“So we need to find this…piece of jewelry?”

“Sure, sure. Once we figure out who it is we’re robbing,” he can’t sit still anymore and finds himself jumping off the counter to pace her kitchen floor. “Gotta be a big wig…bigger than Laszlo,” the demon scratches his chin in thought. “Any ‘a yer clients high and mighty here in these parts?” he puts on an accent.

Cecelia narrows her eyes at his questioning. “You know I can’t tell you who my clients are.”

“Right, right, sure, yeah…gotcha, babes. My bad. Calm down, why ya gotta be so tense? Need a shoulder rub? I’m all hands…” there’s a slight pause before she replies, but he can tell she’s _sort of_ entertained.

“Okay, let’s say we know who it is. Then what?” she’s getting good at ignoring his outbursts.

“Do we?” he circles around her like a predator. “Mind sharing with the class?” The woman just stares back at him. “Aww, c’mon, Cece…I’m _so_ curious. Who’d ya piss off?”

“Just tell me what you know about Seethers and I’ll handle it myself.”

“Ah, no. No ya won’t…” he shakes his finger at her like he’s scolding a dog. “Nope, because you need someone who’s gonna be able to lock that fucker back up for you. It’s not a solo gig, there, babes. Not a chance in Hell unless you plan on, yanno, losing your Afterlife.”

“Can that happen?” how could things get bleaker than _this_ , she wonders.

Beetlejuice almost spits his final gulp of booze all over her. Was she _serious_?

“Y-yeah…?” he blinks at her. “Wait, hold on…you’re…” she bites her lip, turns away, finishes her drink. He’s distracted by her mouth for a moment. “You’re quite the intrigue, aren’t you, Freud?”

Cecelia’s eyes go wide. “What do you mean?”

“Same thing as I’ve been askin’ ya for weeks now: how did you _get_ here? You’re so damn powerful and still so fuckin’ new. The fresh blood, the _habits_ you still have. You’re still a breather through and through. Yet…you’re so…” he steps closer, hands hovering over her shoulders and tracing up and down the length of her arms without touching her. “-powerful,” he finishes, hands slapping down against his thighs to punctuate.

“Beej, I can’t disclose.”

“Can’t or won’t?” he winks. “I’ll crack it sooner or later, m’not too worried, babe.” He settles himself at the kitchen table. “Make me another one ‘a those fancy things and I’ll tell you about Seethers.”

•••

“They’re weakest during a full Netherworld moon,” he hums, leaning back against the counter, halfway through his second drink now. “So…when’s that…next Friday?”

“ _Next Friday_!?”

He lets out a nonchalant, “Yeah.”

“How does…is it…following me?” she asks this and a chill runs down her spine.

“Well, _duh_ ,” he scoffs. “Pretty but not the brightest, huh?”

Cecelia looks haunted now and it’s humorous to Beetlejuice. She’s completely ignored that he called her pretty. Wait…he did that, didn’t he?

“What do they look like?” she asks.

“Well, ya can’t always see them, they’re transparent but they’re not.” At his words, Cecelia scrunches up her nose and Beetlejuice laughs at the cute confusion on her face then almost smacks himself for noticing. “They…blend in. One blink and you may see a glance. It’s like they teleport in and out every few milliseconds. Well, at least that’s what I’ve _heard_.”

“And are they big?”

Beetlejuice nods. “ _Tall_ , more like,” he shrugs. “Lanky. You know, like Slenderman? Think’a that. Just…hunched.”

“Slenderman?” she repeats.

Beetlejuice’s mouth hangs open. “Ah, fuck, you’re hopeless.” He shakes his head and decides to move on. “They’ve got this, uh,” he motions under his mouth. “these _teeth_ …their mouths are lined with ‘em, rows of ‘em.” The look of pure disgust on Cecelia’s face makes him humored but also wanting to comfort her. What the fuck’s in this _drink_? “Their victims have a mark from them, actually.”

Cecelia looks over her arms and shakes her head. “I haven’t seen anything weird.”

Beetlejuice wriggles his eyebrows. “Want me to take a look? I’ll be thorough.” She can’t help but laugh at his antics this time. Maybe it’s the booze.

“If I don’t have a mark, are we sure it’s…feeding on me?”

“Babes,” he lowers his chin. Cece finds herself drawn to him when he’s giving her that look. She tightens her grip on her drink. “I’m pretty positive about this one, alright? It’s feeding. It’s…” he hesitates, stares at her neck. Two steps forward he’s reaching his fingers toward her.

Her hair is soft, damn it, and he wants to get caught up playing with it, holds back the urge to smell her. She shivers when he pushes the hair over one shoulder. Sure enough on the back of her neck Beetlejuice finds a Seether mark. The rows of teeth almost make it look like a floral design but knowing what actually did this to her makes Beetlejuice feel almost queasy.

“What is it?” her voice is airy and filled with worry and Beetlejuice can’t help but run a knuckle over the wound. She flinches. “Is it…? Oh, fuck…that may account for my stiff necks lately.”

“Ya think?” he finally composes himself, stops touching her, takes a step back. “We gotta take care ‘a this.”

“Is it bad?”

“S’not _good_ , that’s for damn sure.”

Cecelia holds her breath for a second in hopes it will steady her breathing. “Oh.”

“Like Allstate, you’re in good hands,” he wriggles his fingers in front of her.

The nervous look on her face doesn’t convince him that he’s helping. Surprise, surprise.


	14. Chapter 14

Beetlejuice paces the hall, strays a few doors down, then back. He’s been hiding out for the last several workdays to scope the place. More precisely, the clients; Cece’s clients. Someone had summoned this Seether, someone was controlling it. Who else was she connected to other than these clients, he figured?

Since she refuses to tell him, well, _anything_ he plans to find out for himself.

Typically, she seems to have six or seven clients a day, rotating through and Beetlejuice could barely keep up so he wonders how the Hell she does it.

And, yes, it is a little obsessive… _maybe_ …depends on how ya look at it, but come on! What else does a powerless guy have to do around here? Outside looking in? Yeah, maybe super-fucking-creepy. To Beetlejuice? Just another wonderful day in this shithole.

Day three and Beetlejuice realizes this is one of the last clients of the day, based on her schedule from previous days. On day one she’d seen this posh client and he was _sure_ he pegged him right. The dude came in reeking of annoyance and now here he was once again – the only return customer this week. He _has_ to be the one who planted a Seether on her. Fucking succubus.

Waiting is so boring. Finding ways to test his powers is how he occupies his time in the hallway. Scrutinizing the counseling session, he, himself, had two days prior is yet another.

They talked about the file again. That damn file still hanging above his head. Apparently, good-secretary-Samaritan Lillian had mentioned it once again, reminding Cece just how many people can _see_ it. And by her relaying this information, he realizes how many people _have it_. All he needs to do is eventually steal his files – all of ‘em. They’re _his_ story anyway, right? Why wouldn’t they belong on his bookshelf that he happens to use for snacks instead of books…but that’s beside the point!

By the time that door opens again he has two more hours left before Cece leaves and likely notices him because the reception room will be empty. The return customer man walks out with a grim look on his face, glances back at the room before starting down the hall right toward where Beetlejuice stands.

Tossing down the newspaper he was fake-reading, Beetlejuice grabs the man by the shirt, pulls him close with a sneer.

“You got a second? We gotta _talk_ ,” his hair turns a deeper shade of green now that this man is in his clutches.

“Richard, I…- _Beetlejuice_!?” Cece’s voice echoes in the hall and he can hear her hurried heel clicks behind him.

“Oh, _crap_ ,” he mutters. “Call ‘em off,” he speaks gruffly to the man.

“Call…what?”

Her hand is on his shoulder in moments and he can feel the power and rage emanating from her, even though she’s drained. Clearly, she’s using all she’s got right now and it gives him a little bit of a half-chub knowing it’s for _him_.

“Don’t play dumb with me, asshole,” Beetlejuice grips the man tighter, trying to regain focus and shake Cece off.

Cecelia scoffs, pulling him harshly so his whole body turns to face her.

“You’ve got the wrong idea, Beej,” she insists.

The man speaks now before Beetlejuice can open his mouth. “Ms. Douglas, what is the meaning of this? Jealous boyfriend? Call your dog off. _Now_.”

A snap of her fingers and Beetlejuice feels her power peeling his fingertips off the man’s shirt. Not harshly, he notes.

“I’m sorry, Richard. I’ll see you next week,” she has that customer service voice on again and Beetlejuice groans.

“But what about the Seether?” Beetlejuice practically whines.

Her narrowed-eyed look makes him want to shut up but also humors him that she thinks he’s afraid of her. Quite the opposite, if only she knew…

“Seethers?” this Richard – _Dick_ – guy squeaks out, looking between the two of them.

Beetlejuice can see the fear in the guy, can feel that he is, indeed, wrong – Dick isn’t his guy.

“Sorry, uh…it’s just some…weird roleplay we like…” he winks at the guy. “You know what I’m talkin’ about.” The way Cecelia _looks at him_ after that makes this whole encounter worth it. She can feel his humor, can feel the tension between the two men before her previous client leaves. “Bye, Dick!” he says, spinning on his heels to view her completely, smile on his face.

Lillian peeks out of her office after hearing the kerfuffle, a judgmental look on her mousy face.

“Cecelia, everything good out here?” she lilts.

She shoots a deadpan stare at her coworker.

“Handled, your _highness,_ ” she snaps, to which Lillian clicks her tongue and turns away. Then to Beetlejuice, she growls, “My office. _Now_.”

The tingle that runs down his spine in that moment surprises him. He follows slightly fearful, slightly – no – _completely_ aroused at this point. That was not in the cards today, but he’ll take it. Gladly.

“Ooh, yes _ma’am_.”

The door closes behind him with a flick of her wrist and she huffs a sigh as she falls into her chair.

“You’re cornering my clients now?” she accuses.

“Well, no, I-”

She raises a finger. “Don’t _lie_ to me, Beej. Don’t.”

He closes his mouth. “You know who sent this Seether, don’t you? Because that’s all this is. What, do you think I enjoy just stalking your hallway and waiting for hours on end for the past three days? No.” He can feel his annoyance coming back, hair tinting red this time. “If you’d just fucking _tell me_ who’s after you, I could help.”

“I know that. I do. I just…it’s complicated.”

“No shit.”

“-And you can’t go after innocent people.”

“’Innocent’?” he quotes. “Right. I’m sure your Dick pal is anything but innocent.” He huffs back against the couch, stretching his legs out. “Your powers seem to be alright today.”

“Oh, they do?” she scoffs to which he lifts his head to glance her way. She points at the glass on the coffee table in front of him and his eyes lazily follow her gaze. She’s trying to make it explode, he can feel the intensity in the room, can sense the power she is trying to emanate. All it does is shift slowly across the wood, making a quiet scrape.

Beetlejuice hums deeply, locking eyes with Cece again with a sigh.

“You poor bastard,” he voices. “What are we gonna do with you?”

“Worst case? If the Seether takes it all? Can it…?”

Beetlejuice bites his lower lip, uncomfortably adjusts on the couch before sitting up completely.

“It won’t know when to stop, no.”

He leaves then, deciding to give her some space to digest this.

•••

The day doesn’t get much better from there. Cecelia takes a few minutes to just _meander_ – walk outside, get some air, try to _not_ think about the impending doom. The Seether could take all her power, all her energy…and then what? What’s after the Netherworld?

When she’s making her way back to her office for her final session of the day, she notices her door unlocked. Peeking around the corner, she squints, seeing movement inside: Lillian.

The amount of annoyance from one person is astonishing. Cece figures she’s digging for something, but she’s wrong. Lillian is _placing something_ on her bookshelf, working hard to hide it. When she’s done, she leaves, closes the door, acts like nothing is amiss, and goes back to her office.

Quickly, Cece rushes to unlock her office then slams the door once inside. Silently, she removes her heels, heads toward the bookshelf, and peers around. There, lying underneath an overturned book, is a tape recorder.

She breaks it.

•••

Maybe she shouldn’t have gone out for a drink tonight. One drink turns into two and two turns into several.

Clearly Lillian is not trustworthy. Either she’s spying on Cece because she wants to listen in on client sessions – which is a problem – or she’s involved in this Seether thing and wants to know what she knows. Both options seem like strong possibilities – especially considering the company she’s keeping…

Even with all this floating around her head, she can’t help but hyper-focus on something else. Beetlejuice’s words terrify her. There is a fate worse than this, worse than the Netherworld and apparently if the Seether continues to feed on her she could lose it all. Again. Hadn’t she lost it all already?

And her lashing out on the one… _friend_ …she had in the Netherworld? Not the best plan, she realizes now.

Yet he shouldn’t even be helping her. He’s her client and this is totally inappropriate on _both_ ends. She should be stopping this. She should be _trying to_ at least. Only she doesn’t have anyone else and now with that information about Laszlo how can she trust anybody else?

The shady way the Netherworld is run…it’s getting to her. Like that Morticia’s place? She needs to dig into that further; it isn’t right what may be going on there – too many stories matched.

She was still feeling…sick, almost. Not exactly, since it’s not felt in the same way here as Before. Chills run through her, an ache almost, and no matter what she does it doesn’t fade. It just grows stronger.

Next Friday. Next Friday is the full moon. Next Friday is so far away. She fears she won’t make it. The full moon is when it’s weakest from what Beetlejuice told her, but how exactly does she kill it? Can she _stop_ it? She knows who sent the Seether her way. Shouldn’t she be going after _them?_

Air. She needs air.

She pushes her way through the crowd of dead folks, away from the loud music thudding. The doors are heavy and her vision is blurry but she manages to get away.

Tears fill her eyes as she slouches against the brick wall of the bar. A huff leaves her when she realizes that she can’t do this alone like she’d hoped.

“Beetlejuice?” it comes out as a whisper. “I don’t have anybody else…please…please be here.”

The wind blows her hair in her face and she gazes up in hopes of seeing the demon. Is that how this even works? Moments pass that feel like hours and she sighs, pushing herself off the wall and running her hands down her jeans, sure that he isn’t coming, feeling completely stupid and desperate.

“You rang?” comes a gruff voice from around the corner. The demon calmly steps into view, hands in pockets. He acts nonchalant but his mind is racing with the knowledge that she feels just as alone as he does.

She steps forward, a sad smile on her face. Her heel slips on the gravel beneath her and she almost topples to the ground. Beetlejuice is quick to reach for her, hold her tight and close. Her fingers cling to his lapels, straightening them out as she softly breathes, a habit he’s commented on her still having. Softly her forehead presses to his chest and she laughs without humor.

“You okay, doll?” his voice sounds like thunder from this close.

“No.”

Without hesitation he presses his mouth to the top of her head, runs his hand down her back, pushes his luck.

“How ‘bout a drink?”

They end up having three rounds between them and he doesn’t ask her how many she’s had before he showed up, though he wants to. That sad look from before is long gone and instead replaced with soft smiles and a flirtation that is surely not ignored.

“I didn’t think we could _get_ drunk,” she giggles, running her finger along the rim of the wine glass. Of course she’s a wine gal, Beetlejuice acknowledges once again.

“Oh, yes. Very much yes,” he’s feeling it too, lighter, unhinged. He plays with one of the frays on her ripped jeans, lets his finger trail over her skin. When he looks up, she’s staring and, fuck, is he caught in the act… “This an issue?” he nods toward her.

She makes a _pffft_ noise and waves him off with a shrug. “I don’t even know anymore, to be honest.”

“And what’s that mean?”

“It _means_ …” she hesitates. “That skank bugged my office.”

Beetlejuice is thrown off now. “Who did what now?” _Skank_? Interesting…

“Lillian,” she spits the name. “Bitch came into my fuckin’ office and I caught her! Found a shitty little tape recorder and I smashed the thing.” The _mouth on her_ when she’s drunk…

She’s _fun._

“She’s spying…?” he tries to focus.

“Apparently so.”

“But can’t she just read the case files for all of us deadbeats?”

Cece pokes the tip of his nose. “No.”

“No?” he’s humored, not nearly as far gone as she is.

A shake of the head. “I don’t put everything in them. I think it’s a confidentiality breech and they knew I felt that way before I got hired. So, I told them I was only updating as I saw fit.” She laughs. “No wonder I gotta Seether stalking me. Pissed off the _wrong_ people.”

His gears are turning once again. If she doesn’t approve of the files…could he rope her into stealing them? The idea excites him.

“I also think it’s pretty shitty they have files on us,” Beetlejuice speaks slowly. “So why don’t we take them?”

Her eyes light up. “Yes!”

Wait, seriously? Beetlejuice is practically bouncing in his seat.

“Who all has them? I know Cyrus, Talon, and Ulrich are the big wigs all-mighty-in-power, but anyone else?” Those three make up The Highest; the most powerful in the Netherworld. Compensating, every one of them.

Cece scrunches her nose. “Other than Lillian and I…” she shakes her head. “Jack…Jackson is maybe his name?”

“Oi. That’ll be…a sight.” Beetlejuice cringes at the thought of him. Cece shrugs, clearly not knowing him. “Okay, well, we hash out a plan and get this goin’.”

“Maybe sooner rather than later,” Cece hums, slouching at the bar.

“I’m game, but why?”

Cece squints at him. “I haven’t checked lately, but…the files may be pre-filling as we speak.” Beetlejuice pulls his hand away from her thigh. So, it could be writing that he’s out at a bar with his _counselor_ right now? Sheesh.

“Hold up: what?”

She sits straight, tries to focus. “There’s a clause in my contract about the files. Essentially if The Highest deem that my notes aren’t ‘worthy enough’ they can use their magic to get my caseload’s files filled in real-time like normal.” She pauses. “Am I making sense?”

“Too much,” he acknowledges. “Sooo they could be watching us…right now?” a part of him is worried because – damn it – he wants those powers back! Yet another part of him is…oddly turned on. Would this count as exhibitionism?

Her eyebrows scrunch together. “I can’t remember the wording. Hold on…” she closes her eyes and focuses with all her strength. A headache sprouts up, but she snaps her fingers and she manifests her contract in hand.

Beetlejuice is impressed. “Maybe you’re doing better?”

“That’s the only power I’ve really used today, minus peeling you off my client,” she sneers at him. Beetlejuice just smirks cheekily. “Let me see…” her eyes skim over the pages, flipping until she finds it. “Here! ‘Client files will be updated based on counselor discretion, as demanded by signee. If The Highest require a file be automated, a review session must take place with the counselor before any changes to the contract can be made.’”

Beetlejuice’s tipsy mind tries to piece that mouthful together. “So, they’d have to tell you of changes before…right?”

“Yes. But since when have any of these players played by the rules?”

Cece doesn’t announce her next thought aloud because even though she’s drunk, she knows anyone could be listening: they’re gearing up to meet and change contract, she can guarantee it. Based on Lillian’s behavior, she’s sure The Highest aren’t happy that her caseload isn’t being updated as regularly as they want. Hence the recording device in her office: they want dirt on the people on her caseload.

Most files are automated and it’s a serious security breach, Cece thinks. It’s like the government having a constant eye on every move you make because it’s documented in some book. Employees are removed from that list and she’s heard that Beetlejuice’s story is not uncommon: the families of employees are protected because they have access to these books – so they can make changes any time they want without repercussion. Clearly Juno was in good with someone in order for Beetlejuice’s history of abuse to be hidden all this time.

“Why are you protecting us?” Beetlejuice’s voice is soft beside her, dragging her out of her deep thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

“Us. On your caseload. Us deadbeats who need to see a counselor either because we’re fucked up or we’re court-placed. Any other counselor here would just sign the contract, be happy to get paid, let The Highest read the files and move on. Why’d you care about that?”

Cece straightens. “B,” she shakes her head. “It’s gonna sound so Alive.” They both laugh. “People come to a counselor to share things – personal things – things they don’t often tell anyone; either because no one is listening or because it’s too hard to talk about. My job is more than just a shoulder to cry on, more than just peeling the skin back and teaching you to look deeper. I’m a keeper of the secrets. Granted, yes, some I have to tell based on confidentiality,” she puts on her customer service voice and restates what she does at the beginning of every initial session. “What you say in here stays in here unless someone’s hurting you, you’re hurting yourself, or you plan to hurt someone else.”

“So professional, even when you’re drunk,” he points out.

“What I’m saying is I guess I keep that part of my humanity even in here. It’s not right that these files exist for the day-to-day bullshit of Afterlife. It’s _especially_ not right to include what we uncover in counseling unless I have the client’s permission. Case notes _are_ a thing, but we keep it brief on purpose.”

“And my file…?” Beetlejuice was, of course, concerned more for himself than anyone else.

“Haven’t touched it since we updated it together.” She actually likes to do that with her clients so they can see exactly what she’s writing, how she’s wording it, and what The Highest will have access to. She thinks it’s more equitable this way.

Beetlejuice is pleased. So, so pleased. He raises his glass, clinks it with hers.

“Then it’s settled: we have a new mission, toots.”

Cece’s initial reaction is to retract, recognize how unprofessional this is like she has done every time before with Beetlejuice. Yet her mind can’t stop flashing to Lillian today, the recording device, the intentional breach of confidentiality after she’d fought to get her contract changed so she could protect her clients…

If no one else was behaving professionally, why should she? If no one else was going to play by the rules, she is going to get walked all over if she continues on the path she paved.

Not to mention she has a good idea who sent this Seether her way and that knowledge of foul play is the final straw in her decision:

Fuck it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm proud of myself because I set out to make this story a slowburn since I've always planned to write one, but have never been successful. I've always wanted to dive right into the smut!  
> It's on its way, y'all - hang in there with me! ;)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, buttercups. Little bit of heat coming your way ;)

_Fuck_ , his _head_ …

They should _not_ have done those shots of tequila…

Cecelia is _out_ , fingers clutching around an empty bottle of wine. Beetlejuice groans at the look of that tank top falling off her pale shoulder like that… _fuck_ , she slipped out of that sweater last night, didn’t she? He could remember the flirtatious look she’d sent him as she did it too, tempting him, drawing him closer to that edge before walking away and getting more wine. Like they _needed_ more wine…

Fuck.

He starts remembering the wholeness the flirtations gave him last night, but not really recalling just what the flirtations were. He’s sure he made a royal fool out of himself but eh, when does he not?

Shit. He should go, he decides. He should go before things get deeper, before he can’t walk away.

Opening her front door his mind is distracted, trying futilely to remember more than a glimpse of last night.

“ ** _Fuck!_** ”

The scream leaves him before he can comprehend what’s happening and then the pool of crimson is so stark against the white stripes of his jacket.

He doesn’t hear her approach but Cece is at his side in moments. She’s saying something but his ears are ringing and that initial shock isn’t wearing off.

His mouth hangs open dramatically, throat dry, arm twitching, pulsating.

He hears a, “Come on,” or maybe he reads her lips? It’s muffled but somehow he understands and his body moves forward with her, climbing the stairs and he feels like he’s floating. Is he? He is.

Nausea runs through him in an unhappy wave and a groan leaves his throat, deep and agonizing.

“Fuck, fuck, get it out,” he’s saying without really realizing.

“What the Hell?” Cecelia is trying to keep calm, trying to stop from shaking.

“Out. Get. It. _Out_.” He cusses at her.

She nods, drags him to the bathroom, trail of blood following them through the house.

Over the sink she takes the large shard of glass between her fingers, presses her other hand to his arm, spreading her digits on either side of the wound, fingers dipping in the blood.

And she pulls.

Up and out.

And _fuck_.

“Son of a bitch!”

“Sorry, I’m so sorry!” she’s tossed the glass in the sink and the blood is a stark contrast against the white porcelain.

“Take this off,” Cece pulls at his coat.

He’s woozy but humored. “Oh? Yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

She ignores this and starts undressing him and, fuck – is he getting a boner?

Shit…shit shit _shit_.

She’s in front of him now after pressing into his shoulder and slamming his ass down on the edge of the tub. Her feet kick the carpet to the side so the blood doesn’t ruin it.

That tank top is looking _really_ good – and _oh?_ Is she not wearing a _bra_?

Fuck, that’s right…last night…she did that trick of sliding it off without taking off her shirt.

Oh, no…

Her fingers fumble to roll up the bloodied shirt sleeve and each touch shoots pain through him. He bites his tongue.

“I can…uh, you don’t have to…I-” he stumbles over his words, hair tinting pink – he can see it in the mirror behind her.

She glares at him, grabs a towel and some peroxide, and presses – hard – on the wound.

“We need it to stop bleeding,” she huffs.

She’s _short_ , he realizes. Doesn’t even have to kneel in front of him to reach his forearm – and thank God/Satan for that…

But holy fuck her tits practically in his face like this? He almost starts salivating, wants to bury his face in her chest, twist those perky nipples between his fingers…what do her areolas look like, he wonders? He bets they’re tiny, bets they’re pretty…

“What the Hell happened?” she finally huffs, looking at him with those big does eyes.

“Uh…” his hair is still pink. Fuck. And then it all clicks for him when he can hear the slams on the roof. “Prince Vince…” he rolls his eyes. “Must be having one of those fuckin’ _moods_.”

“Beej, you…there was _glass_ in you!” now she’s on the ground in front of him, now she’s got her head close to his thigh as she’s leaning her arm on the tub’s edge. Now he is at _full freaking attention_ and he can only do so much to cover it with one arm, no jacket, and his undershirt tucked in…

“It…uh…it kinda happens when it’s raining glass…”

“What?”

This is his moment. “Yeah! Yeah, go look.” She hesitates, knowing he needs pressure on the wound. “I got this.”

She leaves his side, stands, walks over to the window to see the scene.

She’s still in those shorts from last night and his blood is on her knees and her hands; her complete lack of care makes him feel…something.

With her back turned, he untucks his shirt, loosens his tie, feels the blood start up again, and quickly goes to cover the wound once more.

Cece sighs, turns back, sees the tint of his hair for the first time and wonders how long it’s been like this – she was so shell-shocked by the scream and the blood…what a way to wake up from passed out, Netherworldly hangover and all…

Distraction. He needs a distraction and…oh, fuck, her hands are pressing at him again as she gets on her knees before him.

“Those powers, I’d be able to snap you fixed,” she complains.

“Hm?” he’d been staring at her chest, the floor must have been cold because her nipples are hardening under her shirt again and… _oh_ , holy fuck, is he pent up…

“How does this…affect you?”

He blinks away his haze of arousal. _Focus, BJ, right_. Distraction. She’s still pretty fresh in Netherwordly time, still learning.

“Netherworldly things affect Netherworldly beings,” the sentence sits awkwardly in his mouth. “Uh…” she’s peeling the towel back, going to wash off her hands. He searches his brain for his usual quips about her bloody _again_ or…

That _ass_ in those shorts stops him in an instant. Brain misfiring and causing him to just stare.

He blames the boner on the weird loss of blood, trying to reason with himself that they’re somehow connected…

Beetlejuice notices her glancing curiously at the pink tints of hair and how they keep fading then brightening again – but she doesn’t ask anything to his surprise and relief. Maybe on a day she didn’t have a Netherworld hangover and wasn’t woken by his screaming she’d be more combative…he knew he liked that but at the moment he doesn’t want to expand.

He urges her to stop hovering, mostly because he can’t keep this up without making a move and, damn it, he doesn’t think that’s gonna go over so well right now. She’d shut him out, make him switch counselors.

If something’s gonna happen, he needs it to be her who initiates. He could use the confidence boost of being chased…

•••

It takes a while for things to settle in for Cece. She decides to sort things through in order of events so it’s more clear-cut in her mind. For starters, last night he showed up for her; she was a mess and called out to him and he _showed up._ Then they drank way too much at the bar, Beetlejuice invited himself back to her place and she didn’t argue because she was actually having _fun_ for once in her Afterlife. They continued to drink, she got extremely flirtatious because – hey – it made her feel something. Eventually they passed out and she woke up to him screaming from a glass shard that rained from the sky.

Prince Vince…she’d heard about him, heard that their family was pushed off because her dad took over, but didn’t know too much more about him. Talk around work is he suffers from depression and sometimes his moods can control the weather, but she doesn’t know too much more.

While Beetlejuice finished cleaning up, she decides it might be best to put on a bra and change out of her bloodied clothes.

Dressed and standing in the kitchen, she makes some toast for their hangovers which are really watered-down compared to hangovers in the Living World. This she could deal with.

When Beetlejuice comes down for his food, he’s wearing that striped undershirt, suspenders hanging. He’s carrying his jacket, his bandaged arm looking better than the bloodied mess from earlier.

“Ya mind?” he motions to the bloodstain and hole in the shirt and jacket. Cece hesitates. “Just try it. Humor me.”

Closing her eyes, she focuses on building her power up, swipes her hands over the material. To their surprise, it works.

“I’ve still got it!” she cheers, tossing him a piece of toast. “Good thing too, I figured you wouldn’t let me wash it.”

Beetlejuice sticks out his tongue before shoving the whole piece of bread in his mouth.

He speaks, spitting crumbs all over her counter and making it completely impossible to understand with his mouthful of food. Cece just blinks at him, waits.

Dramatically, he swallows. “So, what’s on the agenda now that we’re trapped in here like the last two Pringles you can’t reach?” she’s busy swallowing a bite of food and trying not to choke, mostly because it’s just sinking in that _they’re trapped in this house together until the raining glass lets up_. “Why don’t we plot?”

“Plot?” she manages, trying to look away. She’d just noticed the top few buttons of his shirt are undone and some chest hair is visible. She squeezes her nails into her palms.

“Yes, _plot_. You aren’t backing out on me, are ya? Remember, we talked about getting those files…”

Oh. Right. “No, I’m still onboard with that. Yeah, let’s sort this through.”

It’s a little more complicated than her drunken mind had expected last night. They find themselves stumped.

“Hey,” Cece interrupts the silence. “I just wanted to say thank you for showing up for me last night. You didn’t have to.”

Beetlejuice shrugs. “Eh, it was pretty pathetic, thought I’d save you some embarrassment.”

She knows this is the best she’s going to get from him so she accepts it.

The silence resumes as they plot, Cece checking her email after a while. “Well, fuck.”

Beetlejuice’s eyebrows raise, peeling his eyes away from the pad of paper he’s drawing on, the stick figure comics he’s creating instead of working.

“Fuck?” he repeats her, still surprised whenever she swears. “Why dos thou curse?”

“Just like I thought: I’ve been scheduled for a meeting to revisit how file information is shared,” she shakes her head. “All the big wigs, Lillian, me. Asked to bring our copies of the file.”

“Yeah, how does that work, by the way?” Beetlejuice interrupts. “The…file thing. The one you have is like leather bound. Are they all?”

Cece shakes her head. “No. The files I have are the official leather-bound ones. Copies were made using magic from The Highest...” As she shrugs this off, her eyes widen. “And that’s just how we’re gonna do this.”

“Huh?” Beetlejuice stops doodling.

“Magic,” she’s up and bounding over to the bookshelf. “I learned a thing or two from that witch when she gave me the crystals. A hex bag. Reversal spell…We _know_ they’re gonna determine in the meeting that files need to be auto-filled, they don’t like the lack of information I’m giving them. I knew it was a matter of time. So, if that magic is going to be used and we plant hex bags in their offices-”

“-The magic can counteract it and the changes won’t be made – the files won’t update!”

“But we’ll only have a little bit of time before they realize that,” Cece nods. “And if I get my power back, I bet you I could figure something out.”

“We have to work fast…” Beetlejuice pauses. “What’s today, Thursday?” Cece nods. “Tomorrow’s the full moon.” When the Seether is at its weakest. “That’s when we strike it, capture it. My…uh…neighbor, Ginger, gave me this book…I’ve been lookin’ into it.” He pauses. “Not because I was thinkin’ about you, though. Just…because…bored.” He’s not even making complete sentences anymore and he’s kicking himself.

Cece’s a little embarrassed. “Well, thanks for looking into it.”

Beetlejuice is quiet, returns to his drawings. “It too early to ask for that pumpkin booze?” Cece laughs, shaking her head. “And about who planted this Seether on you?”

The laughter stops. “Beetlejuice…”

His eyes narrow and he fights the urge to shrink away from this. “I’ll help ya, you know that. But these secrets? They’re bullshit. Who. Planted. It?”

“B…”

“I’ll go,” he growls. “I will. Shift me on to another counselor. Good luck!”

She closes her eyes, knowing this is true, knowing that she needs him. And doesn’t she owe him this at least?

“Talon!” Cece answers. “It’s Talon.”

His eyebrow raises. “Talon? Head honcho of the Netherworld? You piss him off or something?”

She’s tempted to lie, but he deserves better than that. “Talon is my father.”

Beetlejuice sits back in his chair, he’s silent for a moment. “No. Shit.”

“Yeah,” Cece huffs, standing to grab that pumpkin liquor now. “No shit.” He waits her out in the way she often does to him in counseling. And of course, she breaks because she’s nervous about how he’s going to react. “He was never there in Life. Never. I kept trying to accomplish things just hoping he’d _look at me_ , you know?” she pours two glasses for them, brings the bottle. “It’s why I went back to school. He only showed up when it was something he could show off: ‘ _look, my daughter’s got a bachelor’s degree. Look, my daughter’s going for her master’s.’_ Never showed up to one birthday, didn’t come reassure me after any breakups.”

Beetlejuice takes the drink from her, gulps it. “Shit. You’re just as fucked up as the rest of us.”

“Ya think?” she laughs without humor. “I didn’t get to finish grad school before he died. And I was so mad at him for it. Almost quit,” she downs the glass in two gulps. Beetlejuice is impressed, reminded of last night. “Pretty exhausting living your life trying to make somebody _see_ you.”

This freezes Beetlejuice mid-drink. The tingles down his arms were surprising. She _gets it_. She’s _lived it_. They understand each other way more than he’d expected.

“So how’d you find out he was all-powerful here?”

Cece pours another glass. “I’d been dead a few days, I imagine it was. Just stuck in this house, confused, reading The Handbook. And then I got a piece of mail – an invite to the Department. I get there and the receptionist leads me to his office. I almost walked right back out. But then he starts with this crappy sob story about how he didn’t get to see me finish school before he died. I accused him of using me for bragging rights. He threw an offer in my face: a job. A job that came with a position of power, with magic. Few days alone in this house, confused…I was ready for anything.”

“So you took it despite the nepotism.”

She gives him a look. “Like you would’a turned it down.” True, he thinks. “They started me counseling the Recently Deceased. And then all the drama hit about you and a living girl. And then Juno was gone and you came back. None of the other counselors wanted to take your case and I think my dad was just testing me to see what I could do. So he planted his _pet_ in the office next door and here we are.”

“His _pet_?” Beetlejuice repeats.

A fake smile appears on Cece’s face. “Lillian.”

“Pet?” once again he repeats.

“They’re fucking,” Cece answers simply. “The amount of times I’ve walked past her office when she’s on the phone with him…all the ‘yes, sir’s and ‘thank you, daddy.’ Makes me sick.” She adds, “My mother would’a gotten a kick outta that, lemme tell ya.”

Beetlejuice is now the one to finish his drink and he reaches for the bottle. “I gotta say: I was not expecting that. Talon. Your _father_ …” he shudders. “Guess we both got dead-beat, megalomaniac parents.”

Cece raises a brow. “’Megalomaniac’?” she questions.

“Yeah, learned that word last week!” he high-fives himself. The mood is lifted for a second and Cece visibly relaxes. “Since he’s one of The Highest, you think he’s pissed at the way you’re digging your heels in about the files and that’s what this is about.”

She nods furiously. “I think so, yeah. He was opposed to me guarding client confidentiality. He’s the reason that clause is in there – that we can meet to readjust if so deemed. He knew he was gonna keep me on a short leash and then choke me.”

Beetlejuice bites his tongue. He’d like to choke her…

“And the Seether?” he asks.

“Just a threat. A ‘this-is-what-could-happen’ if I don’t stay in line. And I’m over his bullshit.”

“Hence you hanging out with me. Piss off daddy,” he chuckles.

Her eyes sober. “No. Not at all. Fuck it, since it’s apparently honesty hour for me: I enjoy you, Beetlejuice. Truly. My only reservation was that you’re my client and in Life this is not how client-patient behavior should be,” she motions around, reminding him that he’s in her home. “I’d lose my license for sure.”

“You could here too. Especially given your recent rebellions, right?” Beetlejuice tries to ignore the feeling of the compliment, of knowing that someone _enjoys_ spending time with him. Clearly, she’s not doing it because he has power – because _hello_ – he doesn’t!

“Yes, I could lose my license. Any moment,” she finishes her second drink.

“That doesn’t make ya sweat?”

A pause. “Not as much as you’d think.”

He sits back, looking pleased. “Hm. Just full ‘o surprises tonight, doc.”

•••

She asks him to stay partly because the raining glass hasn’t let up by the time night falls again but partly because she’s worried about the Seether. The night before it’s the weakest, she assumes it’s going to do its worst.

When she says that she’s going to bathe, Beetlejuice almost groans. He enjoys the company, the banter, the talks. She’s not half bad for a holier-than-thou counselor he’s trapped in this house with.

Now, the Netherworld makes things interesting. Mostly, they let you keep your main residence from when you were Alive – which totally blows when you’re rooming with someone and the place is a shithole. But overall things are kept pretty much untouched, minus the clocks they snap in for Netherworld time.

After she shuts off the water and he’s pretty sure she’s in the tub, Beetlejuice decides to creep through the house. Of key interest: her bedroom.

Why her bedroom, you ask? Take a wild guess. Panty sniffing is _always_ in the cards with him, sure, sure – but when he’d passed out last night he’d had a _dirty_ fantasy about her. The fantasy had everything to do with her using a dildo for his viewing pleasure. He can’t shake it; hence the raging hard-ons throughout the day. Blessed is he.

All of this to say: _damn_. It takes him a total of two minutes to dig through some drawers and find exactly what he’s looking for: nightstand drawer, expected placement. He practically salivates on the spot imagining her, remembering the image his mind conjured up last night. It’s thrilling to see that she has something similar and a vibrator to boot.

Beetlejuice finds her panty drawer too, takes a few minutes to admire the colors, the soft materials. Of course, he pockets a pair; he can’t help himself.

And then the most blood-curdling scream reverberates off the walls and he’s _sure_ he’s caught. Slamming the drawers closed with everything back like it was, he runs out into the hallway, prepared to come up with some excuse.

Only she’s not there. The screaming continues. Quickly, Beetlejuice follows it down the hall to a room he’s pretty sure is the bathroom. Splashing is heard and he figures he’ll apologize later if she gets pissed but…

“What the fuck?” he shouts his entrance, door slamming beside him. “Ah shit,” the first thing he notices is a shadow figure crouching over the bathtub, hands gripping at Cece’s shoulders, pulling her toward it, the mouth of the Seether making some awful hiss. And then he gets a peek at Cece: wet hair, sloshing water out of the tub as she reaches back to push the Seether off her.

Beetlejuice rushes the thing, shoulder-checking it so its head hits the wall. He grabs its wrists, prying it off of Cece’s bare shoulders. As he shifts his arms around it into a bearhug, he pulls it down to the floor with him.

The thing’s wrestling with him, hissing, and clawing, but Beetlejuice has a good grip on it.

“Beej,” Cece sobs, sitting in the tub, holding the back of her neck where blood is just oozing.

Aw, shit. When he pulled it down with him, it must have been draining her. And then he notices that she’s, indeed, completely naked in front of him and for a moment he’s distracted staring at her tits…her gorgeous nipples.

The Seether cranes its neck back, knocking Beetlejuice in the jaw. Royally pissed off now, Beetlejuice grips at its shoulders, pulls downward, feels the crack of its thin body, hears a _break_. He snaps the thing clean in half.

Shoving it off of himself, he dusts off, watches the body disintegrate.

Cece is staring, shocked for a moment, letting her guard down only to realize that Beetlejuice has a perfect view of her chest. Crossing her legs in the tub, she covers her breasts as best she can with one arm, reaches down for the soaking towel, and pulls it into the tub with her, wrapping it around herself in the water.

Beetlejuice doesn’t look away, he can’t, even covered up he can still picture what he’d just seen. He’s only distracted by the blood dripping down her back from her neck wound.

“How’d you know to do that?” Cece gasps, still overwhelmed by everything that just happened.

Beetlejuice straightens, notices his dick is hard, doesn’t try to hide it.

“I read it,” he waves it off.

“Is it dead?”

He shakes his head. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow it’ll be weakest. We have to capture it, it can’t be killed by either of us – too weak. But we need to get that ring from your dad.”

This is the second time Cece’s noticed Beetlejuice with an erection and she’s flustered over the whole thing, almost way too distracted to recognize that they have yet another mission together.

He catches her staring at his dick and, fuck, is that a turn on…

Cece ends up telling him to get her another towel – one that isn’t soaked. He leaves her so she can dry off and get dressed, clean up the blood.

When she shows back up, he’s sitting in her room and she’s a little worried about what he’s found in here, but her mind doesn’t have much time to focus on that. Her hair is still wet and she seems even more drained.

He pats his thighs, opens his arms wide. “Come, sit with Daddy.” He says it like a joke, but notices the look on her face when he refers to himself as that.

She hesitates but finds herself needing the comfort he’s offering.

His body is cold when she sets herself in his lap. His arms envelop around her, pulling her tight against his body. She can feel her back pressed against his belly and she hears him loudly exhale, the rough part of his voice making her want to moan.

He can smell a slight whiff of her shampoo. In the Netherworld, unless you’re right up on something, you can’t smell it. He’s thankful for the proximity for a multitude of reasons right now, but also because he can _smell her_. It’s comforting.

“Take a load off, kid. It’s not Armageddon.”

Only it is. Or, it feels like it.

She never had the chance to get old Before, the life drained from her pretty rapidly and if she were honest, she can’t remember much about the pain after that bullet.

It’s nothing like this. This is drawn out and long and agonizing. Her neck is stiff, the bleeding stopped, but she feels so run down.

There’s a part of her mind that’s fighting this, that wants to be professional and not let herself lean into the feelings she’s had for him pretty early in their meetings. There’s something alluring about him – and not in the way that Laszlo was. There’s no trickery here with Beetlejuice, no magic melding her to him. She wants to be around him because she’s entertained by him, because she feels like herself around him, because he’s helped her all along. From that first moment of him actually digging into her, he was concerned about her getting stalked by her murderer. Now here he is helping to keep a Seether at bay.

They’re helping each other, she’s realizing, and it’s been a long while since any friendship has been mutual for her – even in Life. She craves this.

And, yes, he’s her client and that’s wrong, but her boss is her father and her father sent a succubus creature after his own daughter – how fucked up is that? If no one else was going to play by the rules, why should she? Why should she push away the only thing that’s keeping her going in the Afterlife?

If she loses her license over this – and she should – who cares? She’ll work as a barkeep or something. Anything to stay active and busy, but this position of power was not what she signed up for. And if she can work to tear the system down while she’s in it, then good.

She’ll help get Beej’s file; she’ll help try to take her father down.

Tears are streaming now and she feels like an idiot, tries hiding it.

“Uh…I don’t know much about tearful folk. Uhhh…there, there?” he pats her on the back in what she considers the worst show of comfort she’s ever seen.

“I’m sorry, this is just a lot.”

He nods as she shifts in his lap to face him. She keeps moving like that, he’s going to have a problem…right when he got rid of it…

“We go after Jackson tomorrow,” she decides focusing on The Highest is a good plan. “The hex bags are pretty simple – they’ll counteract the future magic; I’ll just need to put them in their offices. Maybe you go for my dad’s ring if you can so he can’t control this Seether anymore.”

Beetlejuice shudders at the thought.

“You provide the distraction”

A nod. “Our meeting is at 12 and any time we have a meeting, Lillian goes to ‘prep’ with my dad – which means they’re making use of his on-suite office shower…”

“Sexy.”

Cece shoots him a look. “But that’s when I can grab her document and you can get the ring.”

“…he won’t be wearing it?”

She shakes her head. “It’s in a case on his desk, if it’s the right one.”

“How do I get it?”

“Swap it with one of my rings?” she suggests, pointing to a jewelry box on her dresser.

The excitement of having something to do is getting to him, he feels like doing a fake cartwheel.

A long sigh leaves her.

“No stronger bond than those who plot together.”

Cece laughs. “You won’t leave tonight, will you?” she’d seen a reflection of the Seether in the mirror when Beej was battling it and, God, did it scare her.

“I’ll stay if there’s something in it for me,” he wriggles his eyebrows. Cece stares, sure she knows where this is going. “I, uh, saw chocolate chip waffles in the freezer. Can I…eat the whole box?”

She lets out a laugh, sort of relieved, sort of disappointed.

“Knock yourself out.”

“Score!” Beetlejuice makes a fist and pulls his elbow backward in a celebratory gesture.

She offers him the spare bedroom and of course he obliges – partly because it’s still raining glass, partly because he enjoys the soft scent of her sheets.

While she’s resting in her room, he doesn’t sleep. Instead, he ends up back in that bathroom, her panties in hand, staring at the tub and trying to reimagine the image of her in it…how she felt in his lap.

Wanking it in his counselor’s home…masturbating to the memory of her naked…

Yep, he’s pretty fucked, he thinks.


	16. Chapter 16

Sitting in his lap had been such a mistake. For whatever reason, it _felt_ normal – like it did before the Netherworld took away her ability to experience life; existence.

Cece spends hours ruminating on this; making connections, wondering. She even reads sections of The Handbook – they’d let her keep a copy even though her Recently Deceased expiration date was a few weeks ago; she still has Recently Deceased on her caseload and too often they ask questions she doesn’t have answers to.

Only the book doesn’t have any answers about her current predicament…typical. Wouldn’t it be nice if they created a convenient list of ‘Things That Make You Feel Alive Again’? She guesses this list is what The Highest don’t want everyone finding out about: drugs, apparently physical comfort and…she dares to consider this: sex?

It makes sense, doesn’t it? Considering how many strip clubs and bars are scattered about. It’s clearly not a secret in the Netherworld, she’s just too new to have figured it out sooner.

Of course, she’s once again stuck in that strange place: ask Beetlejuice for information or go without. He is still her only…friend…here. Mostly because she’s always working. She’s starting to realize why people stop working in the Afterlife. It’d be much more enjoyable if she didn’t have a career weighing her down.

The sun hasn’t even begun to rise, but Cece stumbles her way down the stairs. She’s surprised to hear movement coming from the kitchen. There’s the box of waffles on the counter, Beetlejuice standing there with one in his mouth already while he waits for two more to pop out of the toaster. He’s in his undershirt, jacket draped over one of the kitchen chairs, his suspenders distracting her momentarily.

Hearing her approaching, he turns, waffle in mouth, and she notices a few strands of hair tint pink. She figures it’s just because she’s caught him in her kitchen, though she had agreed to those terms so long as he stayed.

“Hey, toots,” he half-waves. “I’ll share, no worries.”

Waving him off, she seats herself at the counter. “We need to get going on our plan – earlier than expected. There’s…one of The Highest that doesn’t have an office in the main building. I think we should go to him first.”

“Jackson,” he guesses. “Yeah, dude’s kinda fucked up. They probably don’t want that kinda juju hanging around.” Once again, Cece is giving him a blank stare. “So, we make a pitstop before heading into the office.” He’s almost disappointed, had almost hoped that they could spend a little time ironing out the details, he could find a way to look at her without picturing her naked…yanno, normal stuff.

“The only ingredient I need is a ripped part of the page of a file. So long as there’s magic attached, the hex bag will block that power in the future. Meaning all files should be protected. So I’ll have to finish the hex bags in each office.”

A nod. “Got it. And…I’m forced to do something about that ring…?”

Cece slips a ring off her thumb, it’s large and loose. Placing it on the counter, Beetlejuice halfheartedly inspects it as he takes another bite of waffle.

“It was my grandfather’s. Pretty close to the one he’s got. I’m hoping it’ll look familiar to him and he won’t catch on too quickly.”

“And when he does…?”

Cece hesitates. “We’ll take it as it goes.” Shrugging, it’s good enough for Beetlejuice. He pockets the ring, returns to his waffles. “Thank you for staying.”

She wouldn’t be thanking him if she knew he was whacking off in her bathroom last night…

“Don’t mention it,” he mumbles around the next bite of waffle.

•••

The pure fear that Cece feels is alarming – because she actually _feels_ as they climb through the open window. They slink quietly to the carpet, glancing around Jackson’s file room for signs of anyone. They can hear humming coming from another room, a puff of cigarette smoke billowing out of the cracked door.

It’s still dark out and Cece is thankful that it was pretty easy finding the place, considering the circumstances.

As they peer into the room, Beetlejuice notices her stiffen beside him, her hand jutting out to stop him mid-step, fingers on his tie. He takes in what she sees: Jackson is sitting at his desk, fingers tracing along the pages of a book. Beetlejuice shakes his head when she looks at him, expression horrified. Holding a finger up to his lips, he makes sure to cover her mouth with his hand. He hadn’t taken her as someone squeamish, but maybe he should have warned her about Jackson’s appearance.

Jackson is _just as freaky_ as everyone says he is, poor guy. A filthy wrap is around where his eyes should be; he’d heard they’d been plucked out shortly after he disobeyed Darrius, the Netherworld’s last ‘king.’ This guy’s been around forever – and that’s saying something. Skin hanging like melting bubblegum on his face, skeletal hands, mouth in a permanent scowl…

Rumor has it, he’s a pretty nasty creature too. Into forms of torture, hence his elongated arms – stretched from some fucked up device. Kinda interesting, if Beetlejuice’s opinion matters at all. Which, apparently, to Cece it probably does not.

First step was to break into his home, who knew this guy doesn’t run on normal hours and is _working_ in the wee hours of the morning?

The file has to be in this stack of paperwork on the desk in here. Has to be. Or else they’re gonna have to find a way to sneak in his office…

The slight sound of a radio playing gives Beetlejuice a sense of relief, but Cece still hasn’t let go of his tie. Gripping her fingers in a sort of comfort, he nods toward the table for them to start scanning through for his file. Shakily, she nods back, follows him to the table, and they begin their silent search.

Nothing. Nada. It helps when some of the documents have braille _and_ the translation. Empty-handed, Beetlejuice glances at Cece who’s standing there looking frustrated and terrified. She glances over her shoulder slowly then reaches for his arm. Curious. He smirks at her fear response – can’t help it.

Jackson is shifting in the other room and Beetlejuice reads her expression before he even acknowledges that he’s heard. Four seconds and the creepy, melted-looking dead guy bursts into the file room. Cece slips under the table, peering out at Beetlejuice who stands stiff in the corner, shoulders raised to his ears, arms clasped at his side, eyes wide. Good thing they didn’t need to breathe.

Jackson’s hands slam down on the table, making a royal mess of strewing the files, mixing them, and startling Cece. Beetlejuice watches her clasp her hand to her mouth so as not to make a sound.

They’re both giving each other these shocked looks, both daring each other to be silent, don’t breathe, don’t move.

Jackson turns abruptly, facing Beetlejuice and he’s so grateful that he’s blind because otherwise he’d be gutted right now – literally gutted in this guy’s study.

If only either of them had powers, if only hers weren’t taken because of this bullshit, they might make it out of here unnoticed.

Jackson on the move again, Beetlejuice wants to side-step when he approaches, but he stands still as the guy exhales cigarette smoke almost directly into his face. A grumbling comes from the frightening man as he saunters toward the other end of the room, fumbling for his phone then dialing.

“No, I won’t wait, you’ll connect me _now_ ,” he demands.

Cece meets eyes with Beetlejuice who motions toward the office. She shakes her head. He nods heavily, eyes wide, encouraging her to move. When she doesn’t move and Jackson continues his conversation, Beetlejuice tiptoes into his study to creep through more files.

Frustrated and absolutely _terrified_ , Cece glances over her shoulder at the man she’s sure every horror movie is based off of. He’s distracted, hasn’t even noticed that they’re there. Feeling hesitant, she decides that the sooner they find the file, the sooner they can leave. Following Beetlejuice’s lead, she tiptoes into the office.

Time seems to be going on forever, just like his phone call. The silent celebration Beetlejuice does alerts her that he has, indeed, found his file. The relief is nice ideally, but the slam of the phone makes them very aware that they’re in trouble: Jackson is returning to the room.

Thinking quickly, Beetlejuice grabs her hand, pulls them into the closet, cracking the door closed behind them.

Another closet after sneaking into another building. Great. He’s reminded of when he stole his file from her office originally. Only this one isn’t so spacious and this time he isn’t alone. Having Cece pressed up against him in this tight space, this high-risk moment, things…start stirring.

Her hands are pressed up against his chest, he can feel her breasts against him too, belly-to-belly. His hand is pushed uncomfortably against the wall and his fingers grip the file, but all he can focus on is trying to pull his hips back.

Cece’s fingers grip into his shirt, making Beetlejuice peel one eye open, the other following. The look on her face makes him realize that it’s too late – she’s felt it. As if it’s encouraged by being acknowledged, Beetlejuice feels himself growing harder, pressing into her thigh now.

‘Oh my God,’ she mouths at him to which he just shrugs.

‘Sorry,’ he’s feeling _slightly_ sorry, but mostly weird. This was _not_ how he anticipated today going…

The footsteps outside the door startle her, making her jump a little against him which is _oh, so good…_ his eyes close at the stimulation, biting his lip. His hand grips at her hip mostly because it’s pressed right there, but also because he’s hoping she’ll stay against him like that. She does. Because she has nowhere else to move, because Jackson is _right outside_ the door, because he can tell she’s terrified.

His thumb rubs against her hip, he’s seen people do this to comfort others so he figures why not. Cece presses her forehead to his chest, not breathing, wishing she could melt into the floor. Her mind wants to process how hard his erection is against her, but she worries about slipping up, getting caught by this horror movie villain. Yet it feels oddly…good? There’s a stirring somewhere inside her and she wants to cling to this feeling because she’s once again _actually feeling_.

A slam in the other room startles her and she remembers why she wants to leave, wants to go and run and hide and never do this again. But they still have to rip a piece of the file out and place it in the hex bag.

Neither of them moves for what feels like hours. She’s wondering what time it actually is because she _does_ need to get to work and try to sort through the rest of her plan.

It takes a while for her to feel safe enough again to lift her head from Beetlejuice’s chest. He’s still hard against her and it’s clouding her judgement just the slightest bit. Before she realizes it, she’s staring up at him and he’s staring right back, eyes focused on her mouth.

When the radio turns up louder, she jumps and buries her face in his chest once again, digs her fingers into his sides, grips him, and – _fuck_ – does he like it. He bites his tongue, holding back a moan.

Jackson starts singing along to the radio and it’s _not good_.

It’s their moment, they know this. Quickly, Beetlejuice shifts as best he can to hand the file over. Cece rips out a corner of a random page, reaches into his jacket pocket where they were storing the hex bag, and pushes the paper inside the almost-sealed top.

The look she gives him makes him realize she doesn’t want to be brave – she’s legitimately terrified – and with good reason; Jackson would fuck them both up. But now is their best time to sneak out.

Peering out of the closet, Cece’s actually looking at their surroundings and Beetlejuice is staring at her ass, wondering if she’ll make a noise if he grabs it. Probably. Save it for later…

Coast clear, she sneaks the hex bag in the back corner of a desk in the room, places down the file on the table it originally resided on, and grips Beetlejuice’s sleeve to pull him back toward the window they entered through.

Singing getting quieter, Beetlejuice hoists Cece up so she can climb out before Lieutenant Creepy catches on. She’s out the window, ready to grip his hand as he climbs on a table when Jackson enters again, lips peeled back in a type of snarl.

Beetlejuice pauses, watching over his shoulder as the dude gets closer, moves his head around like he’s searching for something. He takes a step.

Beetlejuice is ready to bolt and try to run the distance, but thankfully the next song is overly loud and Jackson is forced out of the room to turn it down. By the time he comes back, the two of them are already back on solid ground, out of that house of horrors.

A few blocks away, they high-five. Cece’s looking bashful and it’s almost as if she’d be blushing if she were able. Neither of them speaks about the boner or the mood in that closet. Damn, he’s getting some vibes from her. Maybe this whole counseling thing wasn’t so bad after all.

•••

So, it’s settled. He needs to fuck her.

Their return to her house is pretty uneventful until she comes down the stairs in some dress, it billowing around her with every step – he can _see_ her panties, can see that tattoo on her thigh.

“You seem distracted,” she makes the comment and it’s a bit flirtatious, she’s aware, but damn it the heat in her belly makes her feel alive.

Beetlejuice is practically salivating. “Lookin’ _real_ good to be doin’ some shady shit, babes,” he manages to string words together. “Kinda funny.”

“Oh? How so?” she’s counting the hex bags they made.

He squeezes up beside her, leans against the kitchen counter. “When we first met, I just didn’t peg ya as the manipulative type.”

She raises an eyebrow at that, turns to face him straight-on. He gulps. Her fingers trace up his tie to tighten it.

“Funny what we’re capable of, isn’t it?” her eyes linger on his mouth a little too long and she takes a second to step backward.

Beetlejuice can’t help but anticipate where this is going. He’s getting the idea that from the closet situation she’s figured out one of the Netherworld’s secrets. Sex is _very much alive_ in the Netherworld. Sex is very much one of the few perks here. And she is very much an intrigue to him.

“On the way back, I say we check up on Jackson again,” he says it just to get a rise out of her, just to knock her cocky attitude back down a peg.

“Uh. No,” she retorts quickly.

“Not so badass now, are ya, toots?” he pokes her shoulder.

“Way to burst my bubble,” she mumbles with a laugh as she gathers the hex bags. “Come on. Let’s head out.”

•••

Cece must have been a spy in another life. She finds humor in the plotting as she and Beetlejuice walk through the doors together then split up instantly, as they’d planned.

It isn’t a tough task getting Lillian out of her office – all she has to do is claim that one of the other counselors didn’t show up yet; she’s always all over that.

With her storming out of the office, Cece quickly digs through the tray on her filing cabinet, fingers flipping through until Beetlejuice’s file comes up. Tearing a corner of a page, she shoves it in the hex bag, slides open one of the unlocked filing cabinets, pulls the file folders forward, and slips the hex bag in the back of the drawer. Once everything is back in place, she sneaks out of the office to meet Beetlejuice with the next hex bag.

They pass each other in the hallway where Cece presses the bag in his palm as she walks to Cyrus’ office. She’d told Beetlejuice she’d handle this one while he deals with Ulrich – since he and Cyrus had that violent run-in recently.

“I hate to bug you, sir,” she lays it on _thick_ when she gets to Cyrus’ office, knows that he’s a mighty perv and he’ll salivate over anyone in a dress. “I have a question about a client of mine, but there’s a dark-haired guy wandering the halls looking for you. I think he said his name is Laszlo?” she remembers Beetlejuice mentioning that they knew each other. Clearly some shady shit is going on so she figures name-dropping might benefit her.

Cyrus stands up quickly, trying to hide his nervousness. “Is that so? I’ll, uh, be right back to answer your questions, Ms. Douglas. I do apologize. Laszlo’s an old friend…” he scurries out of the room.

Instantly, Cece begins digging. There’s three filing cabinets in this room (and a fucking _trophy case_? Who is this dude?)

It takes her longer than she’d hoped to find Beetlejuice’s file. She’d actually found another clients and was going to use it as a substitute, but Beej’s was right behind it and she practically squeals at her luck.

Glancing at the clock, she realizes it’s exactly an hour before the big meeting – meaning Lillian’s office is going to be closed in a matter of minutes. She hides the hex bag, leaves a note for Cyrus while he searches for a man who isn’t in the building – as far as she knows.

_I hope you found your friend – have to run, I need to get prepped for my meeting._

“God _damn_ this is exhausting work you got me on,” Beetlejuice’s voice is heard behind her. “I mean, last time I worked this hard, I was gettin’ my rocks off.”

She’s heated, completely aware at this point about how he makes her feel. She wants to push it away, but she wants to chase it more than anything.

“Maybe it won’t be _that_ worth your time,” she laughs.

“Do I get a choice?” he wriggles his eyebrows.

“Go get Lillian,” is her response before ducking down the hallway.

“I mean, not my _first_ choice…” Beetlejuice shoulder-checks her.

Sure enough, Lillian’s office is locked so they meander their way to her dad’s office. It’s closed, but she’s heard whispers from other counselors that there’s an on-suite shower and that’s where the two of them go. Lillian always disappears before meetings, it’s like some fucked up mating ritual.

Though she’s feigning brave, she’s mostly pissed off at this whole situation. Yet, hearing the moans coming from deep inside the room, Cece feels so small. She wants to hide behind Beetlejuice.

Ear to the door, Beetlejuice hears what sounds like water running so he pushes the door open slowly and they get to work. Cece hesitates in the doorway but he watches her shake it off before searching through the piles of paperwork around the room.

Sure enough, the ring is in a case just as Cece said so Beetlejuice takes on the task of swapping things out.

The moans are distracting to him, mostly because he wonders what Cece sounds like when she’s getting dicked down. How fucked is he for thinking that right now, while they listen to her dad getting his dick wet?

The work gets done, swapping rings is easy so he takes time to help her sort through the papers for his file. The moans are getting more intense and it’s like a crescendo alerting them that their time is running out. Leave it to her dad to not be organized – oh, supreme ruler of all.

He nudges her when he sees a file with a familiar name on it, though he shouldn’t know her other clients. Oops. His file must be nearby.

Only it isn’t and she’s scrambling as they hear what sounds like the file hoorah in the shower.

Fuck.

The anger is rising in her, he can see it. On their last freaking mission and they can’t produce the file.

Beetlejuice almost sighs, totally ready to create a distraction if needed – block the door so they can’t leave. Last-ditch effort, he glances at the desk beside the ring. And – fuck!

A rip startles Cece so she spins to notice Beetlejuice tearing a page from a file on the desk – his must have been there the whole time. Regrouping as quickly as she can, she tosses him the hex bag, he fills it, and he hides it.

A hand makes contact with the doorknob right as they’re trying to make their exit. She pushes her hands against Beetlejuice’s back and the two of them scurry out of the room, running down the hall like two teenagers escaping detention.

Back in her office, the two of them slam the door, Beetlejuice falling to the floor with a cackle. Cece trips over him and he does this awkward attempt at a catch, reaching for her. Only he misses and he ends up grabbing a handful of her ass as she topples down beside him.

They’re both partially shell-shocked lying there together, her pressed up against his chest, his hands still resting on her ass.

She should push him off only she’s completely distracted at the moment – at his cold body against her, the _feel_ of the moment.

By now, the laughter has stopped, the look on his face is very focused. She feels his hand slide up her side and he swipes her hair behind her ear.

He wants so many things in this moment, but he waits. He waits until she gives the slightest bit, doubting it’ll happen. Gingerly, she grips at his sides, slips her hand down, and squeezes his ass.

That’s it. One move and he’s _gone_ , no hesitation – returning the ass-grab with fervor, his lips colliding with her neck. Cece rolls her hips against him and Beetlejuice lets out a groan. The feeling of his lips on her skin shoots chills down her spine, her only thought is to get him out of his jacket.

As she starts tugging at it, there’s a knock at the door. The fear that fills her makes her bolt to her feet, press her body against the closed door just in case.

“Yes?” she gasps.

Beetlejuice watches from below, looks at the gorgeous skin of her thighs, enjoys the view up her dress.

“Meeting starts in ten, meeting room nine,” comes the voice of Lillian.

“Got it!” she calls.

When they hear retreating footsteps, Cece sighs loudly, her fingers wiping Beetlejuice’s slobber off her neck.

They stare at each other for a few beats, Cece’s widened eyes meeting the cocky half-lidded gaze Beetlejuice is sending her, a wicked smirk plastered on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, questions, concerns? ;)
> 
> Thank you all for reading! I'm unsure if I'll get another chapter posted before the New Year, but I just wanted to make sure I give a 'thank you' to all of my readers. This has been the most challenging year of my life (and I thought last year was bad - ha!) but reading your comments and seeing the love you've given to this story I've concocted has meant so much to me. I'm glad I've found writing to be my outlet again after the loss I've experienced this year. 
> 
> I hope you and your families are doing well, staying healthy, and finding small things that bring you joy.
> 
> Please take care of yourselves.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sending you all love! Hope you're healthy and safe.

The meeting probably would have been less overwhelming if she hadn’t just been on her office floor with Beetlejuice.

He’d left with a ‘see ya, toots’ and some weird half-wave thing. Or, rather, _she_ left and let him wait in her office just to make sure he snuck out after all the big wigs were in the meeting. The awkward exchange was the last thing she saw before closing the door.

God, what the Hell overcame the both of them?

Stupid. Stupid, ridiculous decision.

The meeting was as expected: them bitching at her that they aren’t getting enough updates on each case. However, Jackson’s creepy self was not present. Cece breathed a sigh of relief for that one.

“Your notes are very succinct. The Living World does this, sure, but we expect a different protocol here,” Ulrich pipes up.

“-We know we agreed to try your way when we first hired you, but we’d also agreed to revisit it,” Lillian of course has to act professional in front of her mighty boss/lover.

Cece bites back a snarky comment. Who is she to judge – especially after the stunt she just pulled in her office? Is she just as low as Lillian? Lower?

Fuck, she can’t focus.

“I’d just hoped you’d trust my professional opinion of what didn’t need to go in the file. These things can get pretty lengthy and confidentiality is a huge part of counseling. How else do we expect to make breakthroughs and real change if everyone knows all of our business?”

She wants to say more about that – to remind them that those in Power have magic on their files to protect their privacy – hence the lack of information on Juno abusing Beetlejuice. Yet, she stops herself there, reminded that if _her_ file updated, they’d know about the drinks with Beetlejuice, letting him stay over, the rough and steamy kisses on her neck just minutes ago. They’d know about the swapped rings and the fact that she’s onto her dad for sending the Seether after her, that Beetlejuice hopes to defeat it tonight…will he be staying over again?...

She snaps out of her daydream when she realizes that her dad is speaking. She’s curious if anyone else at the table knows Talon is her father.

“I believe we need a change. I think we were all aware of that before this meeting was called. We tried it your way, Ms. Douglas, I think we need it back to how it was.”

Feeling defeated and flustered and guilty, she bites her tongue and doesn’t put up much of a fight.

“I think that’s a shame and not at the best interest of the client, but I really don’t have much of a say since I’m outvoted, huh?”

The Highest look amongst each other.

“A vote then,” Cyrus says. “Either the contract stays as it is currently – manual updating of files by the counselor – or we change back to the old way with files automatically updated.”

Papers are passed out. Votes cast to the center of the conference table.

“Two votes for manual, counselor-led updates. Three votes for automatic fill-ins,” Ulrich announces the results.

Cece is stunned – someone voted her way? Blinking in surprise, she nods in understanding that her way was still out-voted.

A new contract is snapped up and Cece signs, trying to read the expressions of everyone in the room to see if someone gives away their support of her opinion. Of course not, but she can see everyone eyeing everyone else.

She’s excused from the meeting as soon as the contract is signed.

•••

Beetlejuice waits patiently outside of Cece’s house. Maybe he should give her space, but he knows the Seether is weakest tonight. Not to mention he sorta hopes things get steamy again. Just the thought of it makes him riled.

“You’re back soon,” he’s practically bouncing when she walks up the driveway.

Cece had expected this, figured he would be waiting outside her door – mostly because it sometimes seemed like they only had each other, plus he’d planned to help with the Seether tonight…and she’s sure he’s curious how the meeting went. It is his business after all, his file.

“Hi, Beetlejuice,” she speaks tersely.

On her way home, she’d attempted to steel herself, to hide any emotion. She thinks shutting him out would be easiest and less awkward, but just the enthused way he greets her brings an almost-smile to her face.

She tries – she really does – to put up that wall, hide all feelings but she knows it’s fruitless. Beetlejuice just has a way of breaking down all her boundaries.

He blinks at her. “Uh…could you be any _less_ enthusiastic? What, meeting not go well? Dad fuck his good slut on the conference table?” he wriggles his eyebrows.

Cece’s jaw drops in shock at his words. “Beetlejuice!” she can’t help but laugh.

“Ah, there ya go!” he points at her smiling face. “Knew ya couldn’t stay grumpy with me.” She doesn’t respond right away – mostly because she doesn’t know what to do, how to handle this situation. “So,” he draws out the ‘o’, rocking from heel to toe. “About this Seether…”

He wants to be all hands when she lets him in the door, wants to push her up against the wall and bury his face in her hair – her smell is so damn intoxicating. But mostly he wants to shove his thigh between her legs, hold it there, see if she ruts up against him.

And that is so unlike him, the thought knocks him unsteady for a moment. It’s usually all about him – his pleasure – but with her he just wants to watch her come undone, let down this professional guard she keeps putting up.

Cece’s grabbing the rum and that’s when he _knows_ shit’s about to get real. She doesn’t grab glasses either and these next few moments could either be really good or really bad.

She flops down on the couch, opens the rum, looks up at him with those big doe eyes.

“What?” he grunts before flopping down beside her.

She hands him the bottle. “Nice job today.”

He hesitates, waiting for the anger, the walls up, the ‘this-is-nice-buuuuuuut’…

There’s a long pause and a longer drink and Beetlejuice is handing the bottle back because he notices that she’s staring at his mouth.

It doesn’t make him uncomfortable, really, it’s just…he knows his limits and she’s not gonna like him in the morning…

“We gonna address the pachyderm in the room?” he’s looking over her shoulder because he still wants to _see_ her but doesn’t want to look right at her…it’s a weird place to be.

“No,” she hums, taking another gulp.

“No?” he’s humored, to be honest.

“No,” her eyes are hyper focused on him as she hands him the bottle back. “We are going to deal with this Seether,” she pulls her legs up on the couch, incidentally inching closer to him. “You’re going to capture it,” her whole body is facing him at this point and it’s taking all he’s got to not ogle. He does. He ogles. “And we are going to _behave ourselves_.”

By now, he’s long past the point of behaving himself. He’s had a taste of her and he wants more.

“Oh, are we?”

She almost says _‘we have to’_ but she can’t make a sound when his fingers reach out to dance across her neck as he swallows down more rum.

He’s _trouble_.

•••

It doesn’t take long for darkness to envelop the Netherworld, the stars shining pretty bright tonight. Cece and Beetlejuice are on the patio – he’d suggested the roof but she figured with the Seether’s impending visit she didn’t want to make it easy and get pushed off…

“Nice night,” Beetlejuice’s gruff voice cuts into the sound of the crickets. He’s puffing on a cigarette, something to do with his hands.

It’s overwhelming, the feeling of _need_ she has. It’s not like she isn’t trying to shake these urges – she’s holding herself to a standard that she just can’t seem to meet. Beetlejuice is what she wants. It’s not something she’s proud of, having a thing for her client, but the feeling she gets from being physically near him completely outweighs any worry of possibly losing her job. That knowledge shakes her to the core. This career is what she worked hard for: nineteen years in school to earn a degree, and then how many years of field work before she kicked the bucket?

Yet here is a ghost/demon who she would throw it all away for – she is _actively throwing it all away for_. If they get caught, one slip up or one person walking into the office or knocking on her door…

It _excites her_. And that’s bad – _really freaking bad_ – because she knows how much of an adrenaline junkie she was in Life…and now that all feeling has been erased minus anything sexual or high…it’s going to be a long Afterlife.

She acknowledges that Beetlejuice _said something_ …a while ago.

“Huh?”

Beej sends her a cocky smirk. “What’s that, Doc? So easily distracted…couldn’t have anything to do with yer company, can it?”

Cece notices he’d ditched the jacket and is now in his striped undershirt, suspenders up, shirtsleeves pushed up to his elbows…

She’s _staring_ and it jolts something in Beetlejuice. He’s sporting a fucking halfie because _of course he is_. The things he wants to do to her in this moment are deplorable to think about your counselor, but Beetlejuice lets his mind drift. What surface would he take her on first? How pretty is that pussy of hers?

A sigh leaves him, exhaling smoke before he puts his cigarette out. “I gotta be honest,” he speaks low in his throat, lets that gravel really show through because he’s noticed her reaction to it a time or two before, “if we don’t take care of this certain situation here, toots, I’m gonna have to take a time out and rock it out with my…” he pauses, “well, you know the rest.”

Cece lets out a soft whine, tries to hide it, but Beetlejuice is now _fully_ aware that she’s feeling just what he is. _Oh, dear God, little dead girl…_

“God…this is so…” she’s hovering her hands over his forearms, fingertips shaking.

“Good? Right? Sexy?” he nods fervently. “Yes, all of those, yes. I won’t cross that line again until you do, toots – told myself that before. But you’ve _gotta_ feel that electricity. You’re _tempting_. And I’m losing my control. This is your only warning.”

His words send chills through her and her hand settles on his forearm, making the decision for her.

As soon as she touches him, he flips her on her back and picks up right where they left off in her office, all hands and mouths. He still hasn’t kissed her lips, just down her body. He knows what’s about to happen, knows she’ll probably push him off and go nervous on him again, so he’s avoiding her mouth…because when that happens, he’s done for. _She’s_ done for – no going back, he won’t control himself.

Ginger’s friend hadn’t let him kiss her – said it was too intimate – even though she let him do just about everything else…

If he were honest, it wasn’t really a blow to his ego like he claimed, it just felt like a loss – like he was missing some type of intimacy not being kissed. Fuck, he wanted to be held but how does one ask for that when they’re supposed to be some terrifying demon? It’s fucked up, he’s fucked up.

When his kisses hit the waistband of her jeans, he pauses to look up at her, gaze intense, smirk pressing against her skin before he nibbles a little.

“Don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m pretty good with my mouth.”

Cece groans, lifts her hips toward him. A ‘ _please_ ’ is on the tip of her tongue but she can’t get it out before a shadow flits across the pavement.

The Seether comes to mind and she’s scurrying out from under Beetlejuice, eyes darting around the yard.

Beetlejuice hadn’t noticed anything and slightly takes the reaction as her backing off again. He sits up, lights another cigarette, narrows his eyes at her.

“You okay?” she’s breathless. Leave it to the counselor to care about someone else when she’s in the midst of a nervous breakdown.

He raises a brow at her. “No,” he says flatly.

“Wh-what?”

Another inhale of smoke. He speaks through the exhale, “I’m _hard_ , babes. It’s taking everything in me to not flip you on your back and get _real_ acquainted with that pretty pussy I’ve been imagining for weeks.”

She feels heated. “Oh,” is all she can mutter, a mix of fear and arousal.

“Yeah, _oh_.” He inhales again. “Okay, fine. Let’s take a second, finish that bottle, I’m not gonna rush you, duchess.”

Despite his calm words, he feels his arousal straining against his pants. He needs a minute or he’ll do something he regrets, chase her away, not end up with the company. He knows she’ll come around eventually; he just can’t push her.

•••

Back inside, the bottle half-gone, Beetlejuice chugs a bit more. They needed something to catch the Seether in anyway and he’d suggested they take a second to catch their unnecessary breath. He hands the bottle back to her, laying down on the couch, his head near her thigh, backs of his knees swung over the armrest.

There’s a quick moment where her hands almost drop the bottle and she ends up fumbling for it, brushing against his temple the slightest bit. She hadn’t expected him to lay down. She also hadn’t expected for his hair to be so soft…

She’s kind of tipsy-ish…and everything today felt overwhelming, felt like too much. This moment is a comfort, even if everything in her is telling her to push him out.

Her fingers idly trace toward him as she takes another swig of the near-empty bottle. When she reaches him, he stills, eyes shoot open, body goes stiff. She’s _touching his hair_. Almost naturally he leans into her movement, eyes flutter closed. His hair is tinting pink, she notices. It’s entertaining to watch.

Her playing with his hair like this is lulling him into an almost-trance, one part comfort, one part arousal. He almost can’t help his greedy fingers tracing up her thigh. She’s in jeans so it won’t be as easy as he’d hoped, but his urge to unzip those pants is almost overwhelming at this point.

When she tugs on his hair a little, he lets out the faintest growl. Nostrils flaring, he gazes up at her, eyes intense, pupils blown. On this again, are they?

Cece can see she’s stepped further into this than she’d anticipated, but didn’t she make the assumption that this was headed in a sexual direction when she let him in her home? The dark look on his face shoots arousal through her, though she should probably be afraid.

Beetlejuice is way passed the point of no return now, what with the hair-playing. When her neck starts bleeding again, he’s livid. _Now_? Of all times _now!?_

He’d hoped they’d find the Seether, not the Seether finding them – but clearly its orders are strong from her dear old dad, considering they stole the ring that controlled his demands. These orders must have been set before; relentless even on its weakest day. Pretty bold of her dad to assume that Cece’s helpless against this thing. Though, who knew her client would be in her corner…and her _home_.

The snarl that leaves him is startling to Cece, but she’s still blinking away the arousal she feels.

It starts slow, the bleeding, and it jogs some memories from Before…bleeding out on the carpet in the counseling building, bullet through the chest.

The same shadow drips across the wall, the eerie warning that the Seether is near like last time.

Beej is on his feet, practically drooling from the snarling and the growling he’s doing. This fuckin’ creature interrupting things when they were just getting _good_ …

A mere blink and Beej is wrestling the thing on the floor. The coward showed itself enough for Beetlejuice to notice and pounce; its sharp claws dig deep into his arms.

“Fucker,” he cusses. “Babe, a knife? A knife would be _great_ right now.”

He quickly overpowers it and Cece bolts for the kitchen. When she returns, he’s got it in a hold, almost loses it when he reaches for the knife but he tightens his grip and it chokes.

Beetlejuice starts carving into its leathery damp-looking skin, his tongue sticks out of his mouth and he almost looks like a painter sizing up a project.

The knife goes flying when he’s done and Cece gasps, wanting to jump in and help but tentative to move – its appearance making her fearful.

“Here!” she steps forward, hands the knife back.

He grunts then finishes up his carving. Seeing Beetlejuice in action is a little…overwhelming, especially given their previous situation.

Once he lets go, he stands, wipes his mouth, smirks. The Seether growls at her when she approaches to see his handiwork. The cuts are in some symbol, looks like some kind of ritual to her, especially when it starts glowing.

The Seether snaps its head in her direction, tries to attack until Beetlejuice jumps into action again, restraining it.

“Ah, fuck,” he cusses, straining to remember the incantation.

When Beetlejuice starts speaking in another language, Cece prays the ritual works. As his speech tapers off, she stares at him with such hope. It surprises her when the knife plummets into its chest and he starts carving out a hole. Beetlejuice looks manic, wild, unhinged as he scrapes; almost like digging into a pumpkin. She can’t help but cringe when he presses his hand into the Seether’s chest. She watches his fingers dig in, hears the gooey noise all slick with blood.

The bit of alone time Beetlejuice had the last few days had been spent researching, though he wouldn’t tell Cece that. Researching this thing and contemplating how to get her powers back because isn’t that a win-win? Having her in his corner and _powerful_ , well, ooh…wouldn’t that be a sight again? Especially with this new…thing…they had. So, yes, the last few days had been buried in a book or fantasizing about other things, jerking off so often that if he were alive, he’d probably hurt.

In his research, only one resource had mentioned about stolen power and where it may be. He figures it’s a long shot but, hey, he’s not afraid to go digging into a chest cavity once in a while.

His fingers grip at it and he pulls without much effort, breaking the thing free. It’s a vial almost, glowing blue liquid.

“What is that?” Cece is so beyond overwhelmed at this point that Beetlejuice could say it’s Kool-aide and she’d believe it.

“Ya want yer powers back, kid?” he nods toward the vial, the blood and guts caked on it. “Here,” he tosses it to the ground and the glass breaks.

She gasps at his response and she wonders if this was his plan all along – had he betrayed her just so he could stomp out any sense of hope? They’d told her he was crafty and dangerous but she was starting to trust him.

Suddenly a blue hue illuminates around the broken vial, a vapor coming up and choking her. She falls to the floor just as Beetlejuice breaks the neck of the Seether. With him standing over her and her gasping, she figures he’s found a way to steal her power, that he’s going to rid her from the Afterlife…and what then? What’s after all of this Netherworld abyss, she wonders?

Beetlejuice continues with some incantation and she can barely hear it over her ears ringing. It feels like her spine cracks, so much pressure on her chest, she could scream. Beetlejuice grabs the bottle of alcohol, swallows down the last bit, then speaks a few more words in whatever-tongue-that-is, and Cece watches the Seether turn to black smoke and get sucked into the empty bottle.

Pressure in her chest gone, the ringing stops, and Cece feels like she’s been released from a hold.

“What the fuck?” she’s shouting. She can’t help it.

Beetlejuice lifts his thumb off the lip, shoves a cork in the bottle.

“Well? How do ya feel, toots?”

She gives herself a second, realizes that she’s _okay,_ and takes inventory.

“I feel really good, actually.” She focuses on a thought, snaps the ring from Beetlejuice’s pocket to her hands, forces it to melt in her palm.

Beetlejuice stares, not surprised that she’s back to fully charged. As he watches the ring melt in her hand, he bites the inside of his cheek.

“Well, there ya have it,” he lights a cigarette, stares with half-lidded eyes.

Cece is over the moon excited about this. “Seriously, thank you, Beej. I…I don’t know how to make it up to you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he huffs out and the smoke flits around him. He starts toward the door, Seether bottled in hand. “See ya.”

He’s out the door before Cece can say anything and she’s a little too stunned to chase after him. The mixture of power and disappointment is an interesting combination.


	18. Chapter 18

Four days pass and Cece hasn’t heard from Beetlejuice whatsoever. After how attached to him she’s gotten, she’s missing him something fierce.

Questions arise about the files not updating; no one’s said anything to her specifically yet, but she’s aware that her and Beetlejuice’s little stunt is on the verge of being found out. And he won’t even answer the damn phone so she can tell him. He’s missing hours as-is, this four-day stint isn’t helping.

Her other clients are really benefitting from her powers being back, though she tries to keep it on the low just in case her father is paying attention. He must know something is up, considering she’s not _gone_. In the last four days she half expected him to show his smarmy self in her office and demand answers, question the swapped ring, ask how she did it.

The days drag on and she’s filled with worry, finding herself daydreaming and spacing out more often than she’d like to admit. A few moments in session, she hadn’t been actively listening to her client and she missed an important detail in her conversation which caused a blow up.

She can’t help but wonder what went wrong with Beetlejuice.

And she’s ridden with guilt for doubting him; those moments that she thought he’d broken the vile on purpose to rid her of her power completely. It’s easier to just write him off as a villain like everyone else in the Netherworld seems to have done. It’s more work to acknowledge that he’s chaotic but still see the good in him. Maybe you have to squint, but it can be there.

Had she said the wrong thing to make him leave? She’d…kind of…almost wondered if they were going to spend the night together that night. Yet, with much contemplation she realizes that maybe this was best, him leaving as he did. She feels overwhelmed with arousal when she’s around him half the time – especially when they’re alone in her house…

“’Father completed suicide after murdering mother-dearest,’” a hum in the room startles her and she realizes that Beetlejuice is standing right next to her chair, reading the file that sits in front of her.

Irritation creeps up her spine. “You do realize how much of a confidentiality breach this is, right?” she mumbles quietly, flicking her wrist to close her door now that she knows he’s here.

“Yeah, so?” is the response.

A sigh. “B,” her voice is soft. “Are you _okay_? You haven’t shown up in four days, haven’t answered my calls, and now you’re here startling me and reading through confidential files?”

His posture straightens now that he has her full attention.

“Ah, you know, stuff came up.”

She hides a smirk. “And it has nothing to do with the other day?” at this, he blinks at her and she sees the tips of his hair turning blue at the thought. She’s reminded of the deep shade she’s seen before and is surprised it isn’t pink. “I won’t push, but it seems like something we need to talk about.” All is silent once again. Beetlejuice takes two steps forward to round the desk and that’s when Cece notices the limp. Her eyebrows furrow. “What happened?”

He waves it off. Of course he does.

“Nothin’ important,” his hand digs in his suit pocket and she sees the bruising on his knuckles when he shifts it back out. “Here.” A necklace is placed on her desk and she stares at it, wide-eyed. It’s made of jade surrounded by a silver sun shape, the hues around it blue speckled stone between each beam.

“Wh-”

“It’s nothin’,” he shakes his head, collapses into the chair. Cece can’t help but pick it up; there’s almost an energy to it. Her fingers tingle. Beetlejuice cringes as he shifts to reach for the pack of cigarettes and the light. After a drag, he puffs out, “It’s a protection amulet from Titan.”

“Titan?” Cece repeats, surprised.

A slow nod from Beetlejuice, “Yeah, I just figured with your unhealthy obsession with getting cursed lately, ya might need somethin’.”

“So, you just traveled to…Titan?”

“Saturn’s moon? Yeah…” he speaks it like she’s daft.

She’s piecing things together. Sandworms reside there, if she recalls correctly from the gossip she’s heard. That explains his injuries.

“Did you get attacked?”

Another wave of his hand. “I’ll heal. Few days. We always do.” She recalls the glass incident.

“Right.” They’re silent, all but him puffing on his cigarette. “Care to…share what happened and…why you look so bad?”

A shrug. “Gee, thanks,” he grumbles. “Got fucked up on coke to start…”

It’s becoming more difficult to actually be his counselor. With any other client, she wouldn’t feel so invested but with him saving her four nights ago and now her blindly accepting a gift from him…this is exactly what they talked about in grad school – what _not_ to do. She’s worried for him and it’s more than just a ‘this-is-my-client-and-I-care’ worry.

The exhaustion on his face makes her wonder what kind of high it was, what triggered it.

“Is this something you do often or only special occasions?”

God, this counselor role feels so stale now, after she knows what it feels like to be pressed up against him, his stubble on her neck.

Beetlejuice smirks at her but it doesn’t reach his eyes. The smirk is gone as soon as he lifts the cigarette to his lips again.

“Every occasion is a special occasion,” he deadpans. “Look, we really gonna do this right now? I’m tired and-”

“You’re _tired_? I’m sure you are, Beetlejuice, after going on a bender for four days,” she knows they don’t sleep, yet he looks as exhausted as she felt all that time with the Seether draining her. Her voice quiets, “I think you need this amulet more than me, B.” His gaze softens at her words. “What started all this? Did…I do something?” this last part comes out sad. “I was so worried…”

He wants to put up the tough exterior, make her squirm a little more, but he can’t keep the face. Beetlejuice is fucking _exhausted_ , to tell the truth. That amulet was not an easy mission.

Yes, she did do something – she got her fuckin’ powers back and here he is still stuck with the bullshit of barely being able to move a fucking door with the swipe of his hand. Sure, yeah, he was the one who got her powers back for her and he’s to blame but, fuck, is it a slap to the face when someone has and you have not – especially when it’s something you’ve wanted for longer than them. Beetlejuice is pretty fuckin’ good at blaming everyone else for his problems and that’s the way he likes it, thank you.

“Jesus,” he scratches his neck, cracks his back, looks anywhere but her eyes. “No, kid, I…fuck. You just…” the word vomit is threatening to spew all over her stupid rug and he knew coming back to see her was a bad idea, especially given what he’s going through right now. “You asshole, making me feel all guilty for takin’ off like that. Fuck, what the Hell is going on with me?” he puffs on his cigarette, exhales after a minute.

Cece recognizes a sense of nervousness in him right now. “You’re worrying me, Beetlejuice.”

He waves her off, waits a few minutes before saying, “Neighbor ‘a mine’s clairvoyant or some shit, I dunno…point is I get a knock on my fuckin’ door after you got all powerful and whatnot,” he rolls his eyes and Cece starts to piece together that maybe it’s a jealousy thing that made him run, which is a relief. “It’s my asshole neighbor and he tells me ‘something bad’s comin.’ I’m not all into that heebie jeebie bullshit, but last time this dick started spewing his premonitions, they were all true. An’ I figured this storm that’s brewin’ is probably coming for your sweet ass too so…” he swallows down the end of that sentence.

“So, you got fucked up and went to get a protection amulet.”

All that running off, her second-guessing their intimate moments when it was all because he was jealous she had her power. He never says sorry, but she forgives him without blinking.

“Right, yep, mhm.”

She hesitates. “…what aren’t you telling me?”

Deer-in-the-headlights look, he fidgets in his seat.

“Fine,” he ashes his cigarette into the tray he’s placed on his belly. The gruffness to his voice is intensified in this moment and Cece has to cross her legs to stimulate herself a little, so she can focus. “Started havin’ these…dreams almost, I dunno.”

“Dreams? Are you sleeping?”

His head lolls around and then he shrugs, sticking the cigarette back in his mouth – a stub really and he’s burning his fingertips but that’s okay.

“Pretty sure I am, yeah, I think, maybe…”

He’s shaky, she notices his hand trembling.

“What are these dreams about?”

He lets his cigarette burn his fingers before saying, “My mother.”

Snuffing the thing out, he leans back, tosses the ash tray on the table. Lacing his fingers together behind his head, he leans back completely, closing his eyes.

“And what’s happening in those dreams?” she’s almost afraid to ask, has an inkling, aches for him.

“Oh, you know, picking daises for me, making me desserts, reading me bedtime stories.” He doesn’t have to look at her to know she’s waiting him out. He bites. “She’s back in my life, ruining shit, moved in with me. Any bad shit, you name it, I’ve probably dreamt it.”

Cece bites the inside of her cheek. “Has this been happening long?”

“How many days since the Seether?” he swallows down the memory of their intimacy, saves that for later.

“Four.”

“Then, yes, that.”

“And in four days you’ve had that many nightmares?” Cece’s shocked to know he’s sleeping that often.

“No. Saturn’s…ya kinda lose it there, yanno? Start hallucinating er something…it’s a mess.”

“Yet you still put yourself through that after the dreams started?”

Beetlejuice opens one eye to look at her, yawns, closes his eyes again. That’s answer enough, she figures. The silence sits between them and she wonders how long before he’s dozing. If he chooses not to fill his time in session, so be it.

•••

He’s always running, hyper almost. And that’s a trauma-based response, she’s fully aware though she knows he’d deny it. The moment he slows down is when he’ll have to think of all the bad, all the misery – and he couldn’t have that. So, he chooses to run, get fucked up on coke, chase down a Seether or some other ancient being because – fuck – isn’t that easier than looking your pain in the face?

Yet here he is, passed out on her couch.

She calls Lillian, “Cancel my other clients for the day,” and lets him _rest_.

Maybe she shouldn’t have. Maybe it’s unprofessional – yet again – but she is always expected to put the needs of her clients first. The others could wait.

Beej had just made a breakthrough, though slight. She can see his walls starting to crumble and that alone is enough work that he’s put in.

Two hours pass of calm, two hours of her catching up on some paperwork, stealing a few content glances toward the man on the couch.

Soon he jolts up, completely shaken and on guard. And then his pale green irises land on her.

“Fuck!” he’s choking for a moment and Cece races to him, pats his back. Slowly, he comes into himself again. “Cece…?” he flops back against the saggy couch cushion, draping his arm over his eyes. “Holy shit…I just slept. On your couch.”

“I think you needed it?” she questions, taking a seat opposite her desk, appreciating this distraction from her work and glad he got some rest.

“Yeah? Because… _God_ …”

He wants to tell her about the dream he had but he finds himself biting his tongue. Aren’t these psych types all the same? Dream analysis?

Beetlejuice is extremely aware of the morning wood he has on her couch as well and that makes this whole getting up to leave thing a bit harder than imagined…pun intended.

So, he shifts uncomfortably and catches her staring at him.

“You think this session’s still goin’ on, doc, you’re dead wrong,” he hisses.

Cece puts her hands up in innocence. “Just wanted to leave you be. Our session ended hours ago, B.”

He lets that sink in and, fuck, he starts to remember what they talked about before he apparently passed out on her couch.

Talk about a boner killer.

“I…don’t…” he starts then instantly catches himself. She’s doing that silence thing again and he knows she uses it to get people to open up more. Usually, he’s fine with the quiet but for some reason his mind is screaming and he can’t stand the thoughts. So he finishes, “I don’t…wanna…go?” the sentence surprises him but he realizes it’s true.

Cecelia nods slowly as he starts to sit up, feeling too vulnerable.

“Why do you think that is?” her voice is level, soothing.

“I feel comfortable here. Like…I’m not guarded.”

Wait, what? What the Hell was he saying? He shakes his head, trying to rid the feeling and stand up and march on out of there to create some chaos but his legs aren’t moving and he’s planted in his spot.

Cecelia starts to say, “I’m glad” but Beetlejuice interrupts with, “What did you do to me?” and that earns a laugh.

“Unconditional positive regard? Putting your needs first? I don’t exactly know what you mean, Beetlejuice.”

“You’re paid to care, that’s all,” he finally vocalizes and the thought is comforting because of how odd this behavior is for him, yet…somehow, it’s actually not a comfort. Somehow it feels like a punch to the gut. He rises to his feet, straightens out his jacket.

“Is that what you really think?” the sentence hangs in the air for a minute.

“Yep. Paid to care for me. Byeee,” he hurries out the door and slams it closed.

Cecelia sits back in her chair, slightly humored by his behavior and defense mechanisms but a sting of hurt bubbles up in her chest and she can’t swallow it down.

She wears the amulet around her neck, tucks it under her shirt just in case any coworkers happen to know its origin.

•••

Three raps on the door and Beetlejuice swears, if it’s that fuckin’ neighbor again he’s going to rip the dude’s eyeballs out and shove them up his asshole.

“What?!” he snaps as he’s mid-swing of the door. “Oh. Cece…uh…” he scratches the back of his neck.

Beetlejuice is before her in a wifebeater and boxers. Her eyes travel to the chest hair but she stops herself before she gets any more carried away.

“I can help you,” she shoves herself into his home, which royally pisses him off. What if he had been banging it out with someone? He wasn’t, but what _if!_

“Your social skills could use some touching up, kiddo,” he sniggers. “What’s all this about helping me? You could grab me another beer, that’d be helpful.”

He doesn’t get dressed and she takes a second to compose herself by escaping to the kitchen. The beer he’s talking about is one of those fruity ones and it looks pretty refreshing right now, but she needs to focus.

Beetlejuice is sprawled out on the couch, arm over the back of it. His hand raises to snag the beer without him breaking gaze from the TV.

“Look, I know a thing or two about dream walking.”

Beetlejuice grumbles, shutting off the TV. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ with me right now…that’s not a great idea, toots.”

“And why not?”

“I’m watching my _stories_ ,” he feigns discontent.

An eye roll, “For the love of God, do you want me to take these nightmares away or are you good with being so paranoid that it’s making you exhausted?”

He breaks after a few more minutes, decides he really doesn’t have anything to lose.

“Damn it…”

“So, in my brief practice of this-”

“Brief?!” he repeats, scratching his belly. “Fuck, kid…”

“Yes, _brief_. It worked best if our connection was stronger than just a hand connection.”

“Oh?” he deadpans.

“Put your head in my lap.”

“ _Oh!_ I see now, different kinda house call there, huh, Miss Master’s Degree?”

“I need to feel your temples,” she corrects.

“Testicles?” he whispers. “I mean, I’m all for it but, jeez, babe, ya might wanna be a little cautious going house to house asking for this. Trouble,” he’s humoring himself, really.

She ignores him, flops down on the end of the couch, her back to the arm rest. She kicks her high heels off, shifts to a cross-legged position, stares at him.

Beetlejuice is pissed off and comforted and that makes him even more pissed off. She’s really trying to make things better for him, isn’t she? Yet he’s afraid to let his guard down because what if this whole thing is just an elaborate trick? Maybe she was sent by her father to fuck him his Afterlife even more. Yeah, that’s it.

“Neighbor told me it could be premonitions,” he mumbles.

“What?”

“I may or may not have threatened him the other night after a…” he stops himself, remembers the fit of rage as he shot up out of bed from a particularly bad dream.

Premonitions? Cece is instantly worried now, knows that she needs to get him to stop seeing these things; he’s been paranoid enough.

He jumps when she places a hand on his shoulder. “Please, lay back, Beetlejuice.”

Gut-reaction is to argue, but he finally eases into it. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s an excuse to be closer to her pussy – he’d blame it on anything. But right now, he just wants the nightmares to stop. She’s right, it’s worth a shot.

It’s a gentle kind of touch and he isn’t against it, just hesitant. Letting her fondle him or mind-fuck him in a counseling session, at least he’s coherent. With this, does he really have any type of control? It’s fucked up. This is fucked up.

When he finally eases into it, Cece feels the weight of him on her crossed legs. To calm him, she runs her fingers through his hair, whispers the incantation, moves her fingers to rub circles into his temples.

•••

A house comes into view. It’s stunning, navy shutters, a stained-glass front door that’s partially opened.

Inside is a different story. A few liquor bottles are strewn about, almost as if decoration on end tables and the mantel. No pictures on the walls, no feel that anything’s really lived-in. It’s a completely sterile-feeling building, doesn’t seem like a home, doesn’t match the curb appeal.

Juno is sleeping in the living room, maybe passed out. The sound of creaking floorboards alerts Cece of movement on the stairs.

Beetlejuice is young in this dream; maybe five, his hair tinted purple as he sneaks down the stairs. Cece watches him almost slither into the kitchen, stand in front of the fridge, and sigh. The fridge is empty minus a box of wine and one yogurt container, too high for him to reach. He tiptoes to pick up a chair and bring it over, cringes when it creaks as he stands on it.

Gripping the yogurt, he pulls it down. It’s expired, smells pretty rank, but he greedily sucks it from the container.

Cece’s stomach drops when she hears a yell, “Beetlejuice! You better not be in that fridge!”

Footfalls are behind her as Beetlejuice scurries to close the fridge, get down from the chair, place it back.

Too late. Juno stands above him, pushes him into the kitchen table. All Cece can do is stand there, unable to grab Juno, her powers not having transferred into the dream yet.

She watches in horror as Juno breaks off a leg of the chair and uses it to beat her son bloody.

He’s crawling away from her, streaks of crimson trailing on the floor behind him when the image starts to fade.

In the blackness she can see current Beetlejuice walking, hands in pockets, puffing on a cigarette.

“B!” she runs to him.

“Huh? Cece? What are you doing here?”

He’s foggy, of course he is. These dream states are so complex.

“I’m sitting with you right now, remember? We’re trying to get rid of these nightmares.” At her statement, he looks confused.

“Oh, really?” he snorts. “And how’s that?”

They’re interrupted by a flash of Juno riding in on a Sandworm. She’s pulling Beetlejuice out of her office by the ear, taking her place back with The Highest, shackling Cece’s father’s hands.

Beetlejuice stares dumbfounded until Cece tries to bring his attention back.

“There’s a light. Like an orb. It’s complicated. But it contains those bad dreams that are recurring. The brighter it is, the more power. We have to knock it down.”

“Sounds made up.” He keeps walking.

“No, no we have to try!” she grabs his hand, causing illumination between their fingers. Beetlejuice’s eyes widen.

“Well, fuck…”

“See?” this one’s pink, a different energy than the nightmares.

She blinks and it sparks another dream for Beej, only now they’re traveling together, almost as if watching highlights on a TV screen.

This one’s…of her. He’d dreamt of her in the tub that night with the Seether; she sees what he saw and – oh God – her nakedness. She turns around to block this one out, not wanting to go down that rabbit hole right now.

The image facing her now is apparently a fantasy of his: getting a lap dance at Dante’s. This is a little easier to swallow yet Beetlejuice is stiff beside her. She wonders why; she’s seen this before when they went there together.

“Ok, we gotta go,” he tries to pull her on but she watches for a second.

A second too long for his liking. In this fantasy, Cece’s the one that comes off stage to finish up his lap dance. She’s wearing black lace lingerie, her hair in loose curls.

As soon as she slides into his lap, real Beetlejuice pulls her away from this dream. He forces himself out of the dream state, sitting up away from her and pulling them both out.

She calmly looks over at him on the other side of the couch now and he swallows hard.

“I, uh…I’m…” his hair is tinted pink.

“Did you want to keep digging into that dream about your mother or?” it’s a trick, he thinks, she’s fucking with him.

He figures she’ll act calm, leave his place, then end his case with The Highest. He’ll never completely restore his powers with her bad mark on his record.

Fuck.

“I…uh.”

“Beej, I know it’s hard to face it but I think you need to. You look wrecked. Just…please let me help you. I’ve done this before and I’ve seen the effect it can have. You just have to trust me.”

So sincere…so gentle…

He craves the touch again, craves the release he feels when her soft hands are rubbing circles in his temples, the cloud-like dream state. It’s easier to showcase his anger, to block her out with crude jokes and snarky comments. But easing into this dream state? He can feel the tension leaving him at the thought.

“Ok.”

And then she says, “I won’t let her hurt you.”

A shaky breath leaves him and his eyes are hyper-focused on her. He leans forward this time facing her and without thought lays his head on her shoulder.

Her arms circle around him in an embrace and he’s waiting for her to dive into the dream but it doesn’t come.

Are those…tears?

Cece gives him a moment, having recognized the blue tints to his hair before he pressed himself toward her. He takes a few ragged breaths, stays still as if he’ll disappear.

And she holds him.


	19. Chapter 19

Cece is developing the habit of thumbing over the protection amulet more often than she’d like. Especially at work, she doesn’t want anyone to take notice and ask her what her necklace looks like. Surely, some of The Highest have an idea what it is and they’d question how she got it or why she needs it.

The door slams and she isn’t startled in the slightest.

Beetlejuice had a meeting with Lillian who was to inform him of his service hours. He’d almost forgotten about that incident with Cyrus: the stabbing after accusing him of manipulating Cece to write in his file about his mother’s abusive tendencies.

She’s holding out the pack of cigarettes for him, the lighter too. She knew this was coming.

“Fucking _assholes_ , all of ‘em!” he grabs the items from her without missing a step. “Service hours!? _What_!?”

She will admit, it _is_ stupid what they’re making him do – especially considering the whole writing about his abuse thing was her idea.

Lillian had briefed her this morning, let her know the game plan and that Cyrus set up the hours. It really wasn’t much – way less than she’d expected – he could get them done in a matter of a few days. But she figures he won’t do that.

Lillian had also mentioned how impressed they are with Beetlejuice’s progress, that they’re willing to start slowly gifting him back his powers. Cece gets to break that news to him.

“Did they give you options or did she just go with what I’d picked?”

“What!?” Beetlejuice bites down on his cigarette, throws it in the ash tray. “ _You!?_ ”

“Now, hold on. They broke it to me this morning; gave me a list for you to choose from and asked what my opinion was.”

“And you landed on a representative at a call center?” he cusses. “What were the other options?”

“Directing calls on a crisis helpline, housekeeping, babysitting…”

Beetlejuice lights another cigarette. “Yeesh, fuckin’ thank you then.”

“You’re welcome,” she laughs. “It’s not too many hours if you think about it.”

“Yeah, says the person who doesn’t have to do them.” He pauses, inhales. “I’m taking the fall for you, remember. You owe me.”

“Oh, yeah? The little stunt I pulled a few days ago doesn’t more than make up for it?”

Beetlejuice cringes at the memory, reminded of his nightmares, reminded of crying in her presence, overwhelmed and worn out and so fuckin’ scared that those dreams were premonitions of things to come. He can vaguely remember the flames that started overtaking all of his dreams.

“Fine. Yeah, you win,” he grunts. “Looks like my volunteer shift is going to count for counseling hours tomorrow,” he wiggles his eyebrows. “So, I gotta cancel on ya. You understand.”

Cece laughs. “Yep, got it. You’ll do fine.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” he cackles. “Imagine the types of callers I could fuck with.”

She rolls her eyes. “I think you’re missing the point.”

Her office phone rings. It never rings. Cece’s expression is just as confused as Beetlejuice’s. She answers hesitantly.

“Do you have a minute?” it’s Lillian. “I just need to talk to you about some changes we need to make. Can you step on over?”

“Sure?” the dial tone comes shortly after Cece’s response. Beetlejuice squints at her. “Some changes? I…I’ll have to check in with you later.”

“No problem. Cafeteria downstairs started selling these new Cajun fries. I’mma go dig some out of the garbage!”

Cece sighs at him, has no response, and shoos him out of her office so she can meet with Lillian.

•••

After her meeting, she’s storming out of Lillian’s office; her heel clicks loud on the shiny tile floor beneath her. Rage is the only emotion she can describe – pure fury from being reprimanded.

The other day when she’d cancelled her last two clients while Beetlejuice slept, she didn’t think anything of it. She tried to convince Lillian that it was because a client was in crisis, but Lillian didn’t buy it. Yes, it was to let Beetlejuice sleep off his travels. No, he hadn’t really had a session with her that day, just kind of stumbled into her room. No, she wasn’t going to tell Lillian _who_ was in crisis.

She thinks that’s what most of this is about. She’d caught a comment Lillian made – one comment – about the files having something malfunctioning; mentioned Cece’s expected to write her updates by hand until they can print new files off.

Well, there goes her big fucking plan.

So now two things blow up in her face and repercussions happen: caseload changes.

Being ripped from the two clients – besides Beetlejuice – she was making the most progress with is wrong, it’s not ethical to just swap them to another counselor. Yet, that’s exactly what’s happening. And the decision comes from higher up so the arguments she made fell on deaf ears.

Sure, her caseload is full but when has it not been? Even Before…

But just because she cancelled _once_ they’re going to shrink her caseload down!?

 _‘It’s for your own good, Cecelia. You seem entirely too overwhelmed,’_ Lillian had said.

Cece slides her hair out of the ponytail to cover how angry her expression must be right now. Her storming leads her to a stairwell and she leans against the wall to slip her stilettos off.

Now barefoot, she’s almost startled to see movement to her right.

“Well, well, well…” Beetlejuice’s gravelly voice echoes in the hallway and she watches his eyes take in every inch of her, no shame.

Judging by his expression, she probably looks pretty wild right now.

His cigarette burns his finger and he cusses, tapping the ashes on the cement. When he raises it back to his lips and inhales, she finds herself walking closer, sitting beside him on a step, forcing him to scoot over.

Cece doesn’t smoke – Beetlejuice knows that – yet when he offers her the cigarette, she takes a long drag then hands it back.

“Yeesh,” he mumbles, reaching in his pocket with his free hand. “Looks like _you_ went through it today. Meeting didn’t go well, I assume?”

His hands fumble for a flask and he presents it to her without blinking. She’s still on work time, still on the premises _at_ work…or…whatever you’d call this Hellhole. Yet she grips the drink, unscrews the cap, and swallows it down. The burn gets her, the awful taste. It’s whiskey and she instantly winces.

They sit together in a low calm and she finds comfort in it – it quiets her mind.

“Ya gonna gimmie that back or do I have to make you?” the tone of his voice at the moment triggers something in her and she slowly looks over at him.

He looks cocky, looks pleased with himself; humored and totally unaware of what’s flashing through her mind.

She pulls his face toward hers and kisses him harshly. The low little moan in the back of his throat urges her on. Her hands settle on his shoulders as she pulls herself into him. He’s not touching her, but meets every kiss almost as if he’s in a stupor. After a few moments, Cece pulls back out of pure shock of her actions.

His hair is tinted pink, a coy look on his face. She pulls him into her again.

It’s almost like she can’t stop, like she’s been waiting for this for centuries. And he’s afraid to even shift and touch her because this _has_ to be a mirage, right?

This cannot actually be happening. After all this will-they-won’t-they he’s been convinced that the answer is they won’t. She’s practically in his lap at this point, pulling her body as close to his as possible, her hands cupping either side of his face.

He’s meeting her mouth, kiss for kiss, even daring to throw a little tongue in there – when she lets out the faintest _whine_ and it’s that point, he knows he’s gone.

He shifts his hands to her waist, feels the flesh on her hips, squeezes, then lifts her up. He’s standing with her in one swift movement and it’s so fluid he impresses himself. Pushing her against the wall, he reconnects their lips, kisses her almost harshly he’s so desperate for this. Her legs wrap themselves around his middle and he can’t focus on anything but how right this feels, how hard he’s getting, how he knows he won’t be able to stop.

Cece’s fingers have shifted up to tangle in his hair and if she doesn’t watch it, he’s going to fuck her right here.

Only he knows her well enough by now. Not here. Not at work.

They don’t need to breathe but the intensity makes her gasp when they pull away.

Beetlejuice is kissing her at her neck, growling at the pulling of his hair.

“B?” her voice is soft. He doesn’t stop. “B. Can we leave?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he mutters against her skin before putting her down.

No heels on, she’s a lot shorter than him and her dress has gracefully ridden up, her hair a mess, lips swollen. She’s a _sight_. She looks hungry and desperate; looks like someone he belongs with and for the first time, he feels worthy to be in her presence – feels equal. She’s just as fucked up as he is.

Gripping his wrist, she leans down to grab her shoes then pulls him along out the back door.

•••

Things don’t ease up when they get back to her place. The intensity gets stronger. He’s pushed back on the couch, her barreling after him to land on top of him and kiss and bite and writhe with him. He doesn’t have to hide his arousal, she eagerly presses against him, grinds into it, makes it really fucking hard not to slip out of his clothes.

He’s gripping at her ass when she finally speaks.

“Is this too much?”

“No. N-no, babes. Why? Is it for you?” that’s when he notices she’s shaking.

“I think maybe?”

He’s seen this a time or two before and, fuck, does it please him to know this little tidbit.

“Hey,” he’s calm, gentle, though he doesn’t want to be. He wants to rip her clothes off and finally have her. “It’s normal. You, uh, you’ve never done this in the Netherworld, huh? Nothin’ more than you and I have already?”

A tiny shake of the head and she’s looking small, ashamed. So, her and Laszlo never got down to it. He wants to purr.

“Mmm, baby, I’m gonna make it sooooo good for you,” he kisses her gentle this time, coaxing her out of her insecurities.

“Is it more intense here? What’s it like?”

“Like a fix for an addict,” he answers simply. It’s better than Breather sex, he’s heard.

Of course it is; as Netherworldians you haven’t felt things since before you died.

The shaking continues and he recognizes this: a normal response to overstimulation. So, he takes it slow, promises her that they won’t do anything serious…yet. He has every intention of following that. And she looks super disappointed by it.

Beetlejuice hasn’t felt desired…well, _ever_ , really. It’s a welcomed change.

•••

He wants to eat her out, he decides. Only the shaking hasn’t stopped – hasn’t gotten worse either.

His kisses have trailed down lower and lower and if she isn’t getting the picture yet, she’s either not paying attention or no one’s done this properly for her. The thought makes his dick twitch.

He nicks her with one of his fangs – doesn’t bite down hard – just a blood blister…but the moan she makes almost knocks him off the couch.

Okay. He can’t take this anymore.

He knows he’s probably jumping the gun – these delicate things take time – but God damn it he’d been waiting for this for weeks now and if he doesn’t _taste her_ soon, he’s going to weep.

He’s crouching in an odd way over her, on his haunches, fingers trailing slowly down her middle; down, down until they land on the hem of her dress, eyes distracted with how it’s riding up, how her thighs look from this angle. The look of that tattoo is pretty in this light – wilted flowers, splashes of watercolor against her pale skin. He remembers how badly he’d wanted to see it that night at Dante’s.

Oh, sweet bleeding Christ, let her say yes, let her say yes.

“Can I get a taste, duchess?” he’s not even making sense, just blurting out what comes to mind. He feels drunk.

She’s nodding when his eyes meet hers.

“Yes, B, please.”

He practically starts salivating.

Beetlejuice is not gentle when he gets the go-ahead. His hands push the dress up before shifting underneath her to push her further up on the couch, give himself some room to work.

His eyes are glued to her thin panties, the deep green color against her flesh. He can see that she’s wet already and he can’t help but press a finger to her clothed pussy. At the touch, she sighs, lifts her hips to meet him. So needy for him already. Fuck, is she gonna be fun.

Fingers loop under her panties, sliding them down her legs. All the while he’s staring, anticipating the moment. Drool literally leaves his mouth.

It’s _pretty_ – is his only thought before he slips down onto his belly and buries his face in between her thighs.

“Mmmm, pretty. So, so fuckin’ pretty for me, babes.”

Cece hears him moaning this, feels the deep growling voice vibrating against her most sensitive area.

The shaking only intensifies.

Gripping at his hair, she bucks her hips up against his mouth a few times. She stops herself, almost like taking a hard look at yourself in the mirror.

Trying to compose herself, she bites her tongue. Beetlejuice senses what she’s doing.

Shaking his head back and forth against her pussy lips, he hears her gasp. A deep chuckle leaves him. Mouth smacking off her skin, he looks up at her from between her legs.

A kiss is placed on her inner thighs, sucking on the skin there for a moment.

“Mmm-mmmm…” he taunts her. “Let loose…you know you wanna.”

She’s staring at him, mouth agape. The surprise looks cute on her but he only pays attention for a second before he’s diving back in, flicking his tongue over her clit just so she sees stars.

That’s all it takes for her to start writhing again, to start digging her fingers in his hair and thrusting to meet his talented tongue.

It feels a lot like a wave washing over her, but she soon realizes that she’s cumming against his mouth and she’s self-conscious but doesn’t even have time to think before she hears Beetlejuice moaning, feels the vibrations of his voice. She cums sooner than he’d expected and it's such a fuckin’ ego boost it isn’t even funny.

There are tears prickling behind his closed eyelids as he laps up her wetness. Fuck, is he ready to slide into her.

But he waits. He waits for her to ride it out, to come down.

And then he inserts a digit into her because right now he’s past the point of no return and if he slides his dick in her, he’s instantly gonna cum.

Not pleasing her is giving him some kind of anxiety. Good thing he knows a good shrink.

“Good girl,” he coos, finally pulling his mouth off her clit. “You got another in you?” she says nothing, just exasperated breaths coming out of her like a prayer. “I asked you a question, doll.” He’s only slightly putting on an irked tone, just enough to make her sweat. “You answer me, babes, or I stop…” of course he’s still pumping his finger inside of her to remind her what she’d be missing.

“No-no, wait!” at this, he arches a finger harshly against her g-spot and she’s scratching at the couch, trying to reach for him.

She grips his hair again and, fuck, does she know what that does to him? Has she picked up on this already? He growls.

“Should I continue or do you wanna order lunch?” the finger straightens, he slowly slips it from her.

“Please, Beej. I need you.”

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ he’s about to lose control.

Either she’s really lucking out picking out his kinks or the bitch has him down to a science. Either way, he’s mush.

Not giving her a reply, he arches his finger back into her, slides another for good measure, and sucks on her clit before rubbing tiny circles against it with his tongue.

She’s gasping and moaning, completely lost in the pleasure. Grip still on his hair, she can’t help but pull it when he does something she really likes.

He wants her to cum around his fingers, needs to feel her pulsing around him. Fuel to his fire for later. She’s gonna snap out of this any minute, he’s sure; realize what she’s letting him do to her and kick his ass out. This is just fuel to the late-night wank session he’s gonna need. And he's gonna need plenty after seeing her pretty cunt, tasting her, hearing those beautiful moans she makes.

“Beej, I’m-” she doesn’t finish that sentence and he already knows, can feel her walls tightening around his fingers.

Seconds later, she’s practically screaming as he coaxes her into another powerful orgasm.

She’s singing his praises and he’s seriously about to cream his fucking pants at how stunning she looks open-mouthed, calling him ‘B’ and thanking him and smiling and – fuck – is she pretty. Who the fuck is he to be with her in this moment?

The heated kisses in the stairwell made him see her as equal, the low unhappy version of a person he could understand; let down by her job, lonely, raw, broken. This? This is pure Christ. Pure holy. Not something he should be allowed to bear witness to, let alone not something he’s _caused_.

She feels. Without drugs or drink, without being swindled into it. She _feels_ and it’s glorious, a blessing. She could cry right now. She feels alive. It’d been so long since she felt alive. The drugs, the drink – they all felt fabricated. This pleasure is something else entirely, feels like an enhanced version of something she knew Before.

She wants to make him feel that way too. At the thought, her eyes shoot open and she’s staring at Beetlejuice hunched over her. His dick is straining against the fly of his pants, super noticeable at this angle. He looks drunk, pupils blown, wetness all over his lips and chin and nose.

“Lay back,” she’s saying but it falls on deaf ears, Beetlejuice having slid too far down the hill of lust. He’s gone, dopey, high almost.

She presses a hand against his chest as she sits up, urging him backward.

“Wh-what?” he snaps out of it, shaking his head. “Cec?”

“I want to make you feel good,” her dress slips back into place as she shifts on top of him now.

He misses her nakedness and almost whines but then she’s grinding against his boner and the stimulation makes him throw his head back.

“Y-you don’t have to,” he manages.

She wonders if anyone’s taken charge of his pleasure without him asking, knows that he frequents Dante’s.

“What do you want, B?” she speaks quietly beside him, fingers tracing along his tie as she continues her gyrations. No response. “Do you want my tongue?” she gives him a second and if she’d been looking at him, she’d notice he’s nodding. “Or do you want me to fuck you?”

His head shoots up, eyes wide and wild yet focused.

“That’s an option?” he’s practically yelling.

Cece can’t help but smile, cupping his face with her hands.

“Yes, B,” at this, the words _you’re sure_ are settled on the tip of his tongue but when he hears, “I’m begging for it, Beej,” a moan leaves him instead. His eyes close, his head lolls back.

“I won’t last long,” he alerts her.

When she says, “Me neither,” he’s lost it.

And then she’s all hands – unbuttoning and unzipping, sliding his pants to his ankles. She’s got his dick in her hands and the saliva is practically pooling from his mouth at this point.

His dick is leaking precum in her hand. Her skin’s soft – so damn soft.

He glances down at her to see if she’s judging his size or something, but she’s shifting on top of him – knees on either side of him so she can hover over him. It takes two seconds for him to realize that they’re both pretty much clothed and he really wants to see her completely naked – fuck! – but she takes no time to press their skin together, angle her hips, and let his tip press against her entrance.

“Fuck,” she hasn’t done anything really, yet he’s still incapable of keeping it together with her being so wet. He _made her that wet_.

The thought is back that he should make her undress, but it’s quickly interrupted when she presses down against him and he feels her sweet wetness envelope him. A long moan leaves him as he throws his head back.

Cece is practically in tears at this moment, feeling full and heated, but _feeling!_

He’s tense – his whole body stiff – and if she keeps moving like that he’s gonna blow his load _right now_.

“Wait, wait, hold on, nnnngh.” The groan that comes from him is arousing. She stops her movement and he’s gasping, head thrown back. That was _close_ , he thinks. And then – oh fuck – she’s moving again, a slight smirk on her face; playful. “Ohhh, you minx…” he growls. “You…fuck!...you don’t got much time, duchess, I’m gonna…” and then he feels her muscles tighten and it’s _so fucking good_ to feel around his dick.

This pushes him over the edge. He holds back as long as he can while she cums, but it’s a lost cause; he’s spilling inside her in seconds, seeing white, ears ringing, pretty sure he found a higher power as he shot his load.

Beetlejuice feels like he’s sunken into the couch. He lets Cece flatten her weight on him as she presses her cheek to his chest, his chin to her head.

“Holy fuck…” he grumbles out and the sound is Cece’s new favorite with her ear against his chest. She wants to stay like this forever, wants to feel only this forever.

When she finally peels herself off of him, he’s pretty sure he knows what’s next: the ‘this-shouldn’t-have-happened’ talk, the ‘I-like-you-buuuuut’ talk, the ‘why-didn’t-you-last-so-long?’ talk.

“Can we…” _here it comes_ , “do that again?”

His jaw hits the floor. He inspects her for a moment, making sure this isn’t some sick joke.

And then he flips her on her back, listens to the surprised squeak that leaves her throat.

She doesn’t know what she’s getting into, he’s sure, but he’s holding onto her until she says stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was gonna put a warning at the beginning of the chapter...but didn't want to ruin the surprise.  
> I'm pretty proud that it's taken me this long to write them a sex scene. I've always wanted to feel successful at writing a slow-burn and I hope this satisfies.  
> Also: this is just getting started...lotsa smut ahead.  
> Oh! And I've written up to chapter 30, which is going to be the end of this fic, but I'm writing a sequel for anyone that's interested!


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